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PIERRE LOTI 
 
 An Iceland 
 Fisherman 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH 
 
 WITH A CRITICAL INTRODUCTION ' 
 
 BY HIS EXCELLENCY M. JULES CAMBOM* 
 
 AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY AND 
 
 PLENIPOTENTIARY OF FRANCE 
 
 TO THE UNITED STATES 
 
 A FRONTISPIECE AND NUMEROUS 
 
 OTHER PORTRAITS WITH 
 
 DESCRIPTIVE NOTES BY 
 
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 NEW YORK 
 
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 COPYRIGHT, 1902 
 
 D. APPLETON & COMPANY 
 
 CN9LISH 1 
 
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 \ 
 
PIERRE LOTI 
 
 The first appearance of Pierre Loti's works, 
 twenty years ago, caused a sensation throughout 
 those circles wherein the creations of intellect and 
 imagination are felt, studied, and discjisspd. , The 
 author was one who, with a power ^wliieh no one 
 had wielded before him, carried off -his r-eade;:^. 
 into exotic lands, and whose art, in appearance 
 most simple, proved a genuine enchantment for 
 the imagination. It was the time when M. Zola 
 and his school stood at the head of the literary 
 movement. There breathed forth from Loti's 
 writings an all-penetrating fragrance of poesy, 
 which liberated French literary ideals from the 
 heavy and oppressive yoke of the Naturalistic 
 school. Truth now soared on unhampered pin- 
 ions, and the reading world was completely won 
 by the unsurpassed intensity and faithful accu- 
 racy with which he depicted the alluring charms 
 of far-off scenes, and paint-ed the naive soul of 
 the races that seem to endure in the isles of 
 
 VOL. 20 V Romances 1 
 
 442829 
 
Pierre Loti 
 
 the Pacific as surviving representatives of the 
 world's infancy. 
 
 It was then learned that this independent 
 writer was named in real life Louis Marie Julien 
 Viaud, and that he was a naval officer. This 
 very fact, that he was not a writer by profession, 
 added indeed to his success. He actually had 
 seen that which he was describing, he had lived 
 that which he was relating. What in any other 
 man would have seemed but research and oddity, 
 remained natural in the case of a sailor who re- 
 turned' each year with a manuscript in his hand. 
 
 '«\: :''i i-':^^^^»^^'^^^»^ ^^^ isles of the Pacific, were the 
 usual scenes of his dramas. Finally, from France 
 itself, and from the oldest provinces of France, 
 he drew subject-matter for two of his novels, An 
 Iceland Fisherman and Ramuntcho, This proved 
 a surprise. Our Breton sailors and our Basque 
 mountaineers were not less foreign to the Pa- 
 risian drawing-room than was Aziyad^ or the 
 little Rahahu. One claimed to have a knowledge 
 of Brittany, or of the Pyrenees, because one had 
 visited Dinard or Biarritz ; while in reality 
 neither Tahiti nor the Isle of Piques could have 
 remained more completely unknown to us. 
 
 The developments of human industry have 
 brought the extremities of the world nearer to« 
 
 vi 
 
Pierre Loti 
 
 gether; but the soul of each race continues to 
 cloak itself in its own individuality and to re- 
 main a mystery to the rest of the world. One 
 trait alone is common to all : the infinite sadness 
 of human destiny^ This it was that Loti im- 
 pressed so vividly on the reading world. 
 
 His success was greats Though a young 
 man as yet, Loti saw his work crowned with 
 i what in France may be considered the supreme 
 sanction : he was elected to membership in the 
 French Academy. His name became coupled 
 with those of Bemardin de St. Pierre and of Cha- 
 teaubriand. With the sole exception of the au- 
 thor of Paul and Virginia and of the writer of 
 Atala, he seemed to be one without a predeces- 
 sor and without a master. It may be well here to 
 inquire how much reason there is for this asser- 
 tion, and what novel features are presented in 
 his work. 
 
 .. .• . *•• 
 
 It has become a trite saying that French 
 
 genius lacks the sense of Nature, that the French 
 
 tongue is colourless, and therefore wants the most 
 
 striking feature of poetry. If we abandoned for 
 
 one moment the domain of letters and took a 
 
 comprehensive view of the field of art, we might 
 
 be permitted to express astonishment at the pass- 
 
 vii 
 
Pierre Loti 
 
 mg of so summary a judgment on the genius of 
 a nation which has, in the real sense of the term, 
 produced two such painters of Nature as Claude 
 Lorrain and Corot. But even in the realm of 
 letters it is easily seen that this mode of thinking 
 is due largely to insufficient knowledge of the 
 language's resources, and to a study of French 
 literature which does not extend beyond the 
 seventeenth century. Without going back to 
 the Duke of Orleans and to Villon, one need 
 only read a few of the poets of the sixteenth 
 century to be struck by the prominence given to 
 Nature in their writings. Nothing is more de- 
 lightful than Ronsard's word-paintings of his 
 sweet country of Vendome. Until the day of 
 Malherbe, the didactic Regnier and the Calvinis- 
 tic Marot are the only two who could be said to 
 give colour to the preconceived and prevalent 
 notion as to the dryness of French poetry. And 
 even after Malherbe, in the seventeenth century, 
 we find that La Fontaine, the most truly French 
 of French writers, was a passionate' lover of Na- 
 ture. He who can see nothing in the latter's 
 fables beyond the little ^dramas which they un- 
 fold and the ordinary moral which the poet draws 
 therefrom, must confess that he fails to under- 
 stand him. His landscapes possess precision, 
 
 viii 
 
Pierre Loti 
 
 accuracy, and life, while such is the fragrance of 
 his speech that it seems laden with the fresh per- 
 fume of the fields and furrows. 
 
 Racine himself, the most penetrating and the 
 most psychological of poets, is too well versed in 
 the human soul not to have felt its intimate 
 union with Nature. His magnificent verse in 
 Ph^dre, 
 
 •*Ah! que ne suis-je assise h Tombre des fordts!" 
 
 is but the cry of despair, the appeal, filled with 
 anguish, of a heart that is troubled and which 
 oft has sought peace and alleviation amid the 
 cold indifference of inanimate things. The small 
 place given to Nature in the French literature of 
 the seventeenth century is not to be ascribed to 
 the language nor explained by a lack of sensi- 
 bility on the part of the race. The true cause is 
 to be found in the spirit of that period ; for in- 
 vestigation will disclose that the very same con- 
 dition then characterized the literatures of Eng- 
 land, of Spain, and of Italy. 
 
 We must bear in mind that, owing to an 
 almost unique combination of circumstances, 
 there never has been a period when man was 
 more convinced of the nobility and, I dare say 
 
 it, of the sovereignty of man, or was more in- 
 
 ix 
 
Pierre Loti 
 
 clined to look upon the latter as a being inde- 
 pendent of the external world. He did not sus- 
 pect the intimately close bonds which unite the 
 creature to the medium in which it lives. A 
 man of the world in the seventeenth century was 
 utterly without a notion of those truths which in 
 their ensemble constitute the natural sciences. 
 He crossed the threshold of life possessed of a 
 deep classical instruction, and all-imbued with 
 stoical ideas of virtue. At the same time, he had 
 received the mould of a strong but narrow Chris- 
 tian education, in which nothing figured save his 
 relations with God. This twofold training ele- 
 vated his soul and fortified his will, but wrenched 
 him violently from all communion with Nature. 
 This is the standpoint from which we must view 
 the heroes of Corneille, if we would understand 
 those extraordinary souls which, always at the 
 highest degree of tension, deny themselves, as a 
 weakness, everything that resembles tenderness 
 or pity. Again, thus and thus alone can we 
 explain how Descartes, and with him all the 
 philosophers of his century, ran counter to all 
 common sense, and refused to recognise that 
 animals might possess a soul-like principle which, 
 however remotely, might link them to the 
 human being. 
 
Pierre Loti 
 
 When, in the eighteenth century, minds 
 became emancipated from the narrow restric- 
 tions of religious discipline, and when method 
 was introduced into the study of scientific prob- 
 lems, Nature took her revenge as well in litera- 
 ture as in all other fields of human thou'^ht. 
 Rousseau it was who inaugurated the movement 
 in France, and the whole of Europe followed in 
 the wake of France. It may even be declared 
 that the reaction against the seventeenth century 
 was in many respects excessive, for the eight- 
 eenth century gave itself up to a species of senti- 
 mental debauch. It is none the less a fact that 
 the author of La Nouvelle Hdloise was the first 
 to blend the moral life of man with his exterior 
 surroundings. He felt the savage beauty and 
 grandeur of the mountains of Switzerland, the 
 grace of the Savoy horizons, and the more 
 familiar elegance of the Parisian suburbs. We 
 may say that he opened the eye of humanity to 
 the spectacle which the world offered it. In 
 Germany, Lessing, Goethe, Hegel, Schelling 
 have proclaimed him their master ; while even in 
 England, Byron, and George Eliot herself, have 
 recognised all that they owed to him. 
 
 The first of Rousseau's disciples in France 
 
 was Bernardin de St. Pierre, whose name has 
 
 xi 
 
Pierre Loti 
 
 frequently been recalled in connection with Loti. 
 Indeed, the charming masterpiece of Paul and 
 Virginia was the first example of exoticism in 
 literature; and thereby it excited the curiosity 
 of our fathers at the same time that it dazzled 
 them by the wealth and brilliancy of its de- 
 scriptions. 
 
 Then came Chateaubriand ; but Nature with 
 him was not a mere background. He sought 
 from it an accompaniment, in the musical sense 
 of the term, to the movements of his soul ; and 
 being somewhat prone to melancholy, his taste 
 seems to have favoured sombre landscapes, stormy 
 and tragical. The entire romantic school was 
 born from him, Victor Hugo and George Sand, 
 Th^ophile Gautier who draws from the French 
 tongue resources unequalled in wealth and in 
 colour, and even M. Zola himself, whose natural- 
 ism, after all, is but the last form and, as it were, 
 the end of romanticism, since it would be diffi- 
 cult to discover in him any characteristic that did 
 not exist, as a germ at least, in Balzac. 
 
 I have just said that Chateaubriand sought in 
 Nature an accompaniment to the movements of 
 his soul : this was the case with all the romanti- 
 cists. We do not find Ren^, Manfred, Indiana, 
 
 living in the midst of a tranquil and monotonous 
 
 xii 
 
Pierre Loti 
 
 Nature. The storms of heaven must respond to 
 the storms of their soul ; and it is a fact that all 
 these great writers, Byron as well as Victor 
 Hugo, have not so much contemplated and seen 
 Nature as they have interpreted it through the 
 medium of their own passions ; and it is in this 
 sense that the keen Amiel could justly remark 
 that a landscape is a condition or a state of the 
 soul. 
 
 M. Loti does not merely interpret a land- 
 scape ; though perhaps, to begin with, he is 
 unconscious of doing more. With him, the 
 human being is a part of Nature, one of its very 
 expressions, like animals and plants, mountain 
 forms and sky tints. His characters are what 
 they are only because they issue forth from the 
 medium in which they live. They are truly 
 creatures, and not gods inhabiting the earth. 
 Hence their profound and striking reality. 
 ' Hence also one of the peculiar characteristics 
 of Loti's workers. He loves to paint simple 
 souls, hearts close to Nature, whose primitive 
 passions are singularly similar to those of ani- 
 mals. He is happy in the isles of the Pacific or 
 on the borders of Senegal ; and when he shifts 
 
 his scenes into old Europe it is never with 
 
 xiii 
 
Pierre Loti 
 
 men and women of the world that he enter- 
 tains us. 
 
 What we call a man of the world is the same 
 everywhere; he is moulded by the society of 
 men, but Nature and the universe have no place 
 in his life and thought. M. Paul Bourget's 
 heroes might live without distinction in New- 
 port or in Monte Carlo; they take root no- 
 where, but live in the large cities, in winter 
 resorts and in drawing-rooms as transient visitors 
 in temporary abiding-places. 
 
 Loti seeks his heroes and his heroines among 
 those antique races of Europe which have sur- 
 vived all conquests, and which have preserved, 
 with their native tongue, the individuality of 
 their character. He met Ramuntcho in the 
 Basque country, but dearer than all to him is 
 Brittany : here it was that he met his Iceland 
 fishermen. 
 
 The Breton soul bears an imprint of Armori- 
 
 ca's primitive soil : it is melancholy and noble. 
 
 There is an undefinable charm about those arid 
 
 lands and those sod-flanked hills of granite, 
 
 whose sole horizon is the far-stretching sea. 
 
 Europe ends here, and beyond remains only the 
 
 broad expanse of the ocean. The poor people 
 
 who dwell here are silent and tenacious : their 
 
 xiv 
 
Pierre Loti 
 
 heart is full of tenderness and of dreams. Yann, 
 the Iceland fisherman, and his sweetheart, Gaud 
 of Paimpol, can only live here, in the small 
 houses of Brittany, where people huddle together 
 in a stand against the storms which come howl- 
 ing from the depths of the Atlantic. 
 
 Loti's novels are never complicated with a 
 mass of incidents. The characters are of humble 
 station and their life is as simple as their soul. 
 Aziyadd, The Romance of a Spahi, An Iceland 
 Fisherman, Ramuntcho, all present the story of a 
 love and a separation. A departure, or death itself, 
 intervenes to put an end to the romance. But 
 the cause matters little; the separation is the 
 same ; the hearts are broken ; Nature survives ; it 
 covers over and absorbs the miserable ruins which 
 we leave behind us. No one better than Loti 
 has ever brought out the frailty of all things per- 
 taining to us, for no one better than he has made 
 us realize the persistency of life and the indiffer- 
 ence of Nature. 
 
 This circumstance imparts to the reading of 
 M. Loti's works a character of peculiar sadness. 
 The trend of his novels is not one that incites 
 curiosity ; his heroes are simple, and the atmos- 
 phere in which they live is foreign to us. What 
 saddens us is not their history, but the undefin- 
 
 XV 
 
Pierre Loti 
 
 able impression that our pleasures are nothing 
 and that we are but an accident. This is a 
 thought common to the degree of triteness 
 among moralists and theologians ; but as they 
 present it, it fails to move us. It troubles us as 
 presented by M. Loti, because he has known 
 how to give it all the force of a sensation. 
 
 How has he accomplished this ? 
 
 He writes with extreme simplicity, and is not 
 averse to the use of vague and indefinite expres- 
 sions. And yet the wealth and precision of 
 Gautier's and Hugo's language fail to endow 
 their landscapes with the striking charm and in- 
 tense life which are to be found in those of Loti. 
 I can find no other reason for this than that 
 which I have suggested above : the landscape, in 
 Hugo's and in Gautier's scenes, is a background 
 and nothing more ; while Loti makes it the pre- 
 dominating figure of his drama. Our sensibilities 
 are necessarily aroused before this apparition of 
 Nature, blind, inaccessible, and all-powerful as 
 the Fates of old. 
 
 It may prove interesting to inquire how Loti 
 contrived to sound such a new note in art. 
 
 He boasted, on the day of his reception into 
 the French Academy, that he had never read, 
 
 xvi 
 
Pierre Loti 
 
 Many protested, some smiled, and a large num- 
 ber of persons refused to believe the assertion. 
 Yet the statement was actually quite credible, 
 for the foundation and basis of M. Loti rest on 
 a naive simplicity which makes him very sensi- 
 tive to the things of the outside world, and gives 
 him a perfect comprehension of simple souls. 
 He is not a reader, for he is not imbued with 
 book notions of things; his ideas of them are 
 direct, and everything with him is not memory, 
 but reflected sensation. 
 
 On the other hand, that sailor-life which has 
 enabled him to see the world, must have con- 
 firmed in him this mental attitude. The deck 
 officer who watches the vessel's course may do 
 nothing which could distract his attention ; but 
 while ever ready to act and always unoccupied, 
 he thinks, he dreams, he listens to the voices of 
 the sea ; and everything about him is of interest 
 to him, the shape of the clouds, the aspect of 
 skies and waters. He knows that a mere board's 
 thickness is all that separates him and defends 
 him from death. Such is the habitual state of 
 mind which M. Loti has brought to the colouring 
 of his books. 
 
 He has related to us how, when still a little 
 child, he first beheld the sea. He had escaped 
 
 xvii 
 
Pierre Loti 
 
 from the parental home, allured by the brisk and 
 
 pungent air and by the ** peculiar noise, at once 
 
 feeble and great," which could be heard beyond 
 
 little hills of sand to which led a certain path. 
 
 He recognised the sea : *' before me something 
 
 appeared, something sombre and noisy, which 
 
 had loomed up from all sides at once, and which 
 
 seemed to have no end ; a moving expanse 
 
 which struck me with mortal vertigo ; . . . above 
 
 was stretched out full a sky all of one piece, of a 
 
 dark gray colour like a heavy mantle ; very, very 
 
 far away, in unmeasurable depths of horizon, 
 
 could be seen a break, an opening between sea 
 
 and sky, a long empty crack, of a light pale 
 
 yellow." He felt a sadness unspeakable, a 
 
 sense of desolate solitude, of abandonment, of 
 
 exile. He ran back in haste to unburden his 
 
 soul upon his mother's bosom, and, as he says, 
 
 "to seek consolation with her for a thousand 
 
 anticipated, indescribable pangs, which had 
 
 wrung my heart at the sight of that vast green, 
 
 deep expanse." 
 
 A poet of the sea had been born, and his 
 
 genius still bears a trace of the shudder of fear 
 
 experienced that evening by Pierre Loti the 
 
 little child. 
 
 Loti was born not far from the ocean, in 
 xviii 
 
Pierre Loti 
 
 Saintonge, of an old Huguenot family which 
 had numbered many sailors among its members. 
 While yet a mere child he thumbed the old Bible 
 which formerly, in the days of persecution, had 
 been read only with cautious secrecy ; and he 
 perused the vessel's ancient records wherein 
 mariners long since gone had noted, almost a 
 century before, that "the weather was good," 
 that ** the wind was favourable," and that ** do- 
 radoes or gilt-heads were passing near the ship." 
 
 He was passionately fond of music. He had 
 few comrades, and his imagination was of the 
 exalted kind. His first ambition was to be a 
 minister, then a missionary ; and finally he de- 
 cided to become a sailor. He wanted to see the 
 world, he had the curiosity of things ; he was 
 inclined to search for the strange and the un- 
 known ; he must seek that sensation, delightful 
 and fascinating to complex souls, of betaking 
 himself off, of withdrawing from his own world, 
 of breaking with his own mode of life, and of 
 creating for himself voluntary regrets. 
 
 He felt in the presence of Nature a species 
 of disquietude, and experienced therefrom sensa- 
 tions which might almost be expressed in col- 
 ours : his head, he himself states, " might be com- 
 pared to a camera, filled with sensitive plates." 
 
 xix 
 
Pierre Loti 
 
 This power of vision permitted him to appre- 
 hend only the appearance of things, not their 
 reality ; he was conscious of the nothingness of 
 nothing, of the dust of dust. The remnants of 
 his religious education intensified still more this 
 distaste for the external world. 
 
 He was wont to spend his summer vacation 
 in the south of France, and he preserved its 
 warm, sunny impressions. It was only later 
 that he became acquainted with Brittany. She 
 inspired him at first with a feeling of oppression 
 and of sadness, and it was long before he learned 
 to love her. 
 
 Thus was formed and developed, far from 
 literary circles and from Parisian coteries, one 
 of the most original writers that had appeared 
 for a long time. • He noted his impressions while 
 touring the world ; one fine morning he pub- 
 lished them, and from the very first the read- 
 ing public was won. He related his adventures 
 and his own romance. The question could then 
 be raised whether his skill and art would prove 
 as consummate if he should deviate from his 
 own personality to write what might be termed 
 impersonal poems ; and it is precisely in this last 
 direction that he subsequently produced what 
 are now considered his masterpieces. 
 
 XX 
 
Pierre Loti 
 
 A strange writer assuredly is this, at one© 
 logical and illusive, who makes us feel at the 
 same time the sensation of things and that of 
 their nothingness. Amid so many works where- 
 in the luxuries of the Orient, the quasi animal 
 life of the Pacific, the burning passions of Africa, 
 are painted with a vigour of imagination never 
 witnessed before his advent. An Iceland Fisher- 
 man shines forth with incomparable brilliancy. 
 Something of the pure soul of Brittany is to be 
 found in these melancholy pages, which, so long 
 as the French tongue endures, must evoke the 
 admiration of artists, and must arouse the pity 
 ;^id stir the emotions of men. 
 
 Jules Cambon. 
 
 ssi 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 
 
 * The real name of Pierre Loti is Louis 
 Marie Julien Viaud. He was born of Protes- 
 tant parents, in the old city of Rochefort, on the 
 l^th of January y 18^0, In one of his pleasant 
 volumes of autobiography, ** Le Roman cTun En- 
 fant^* he has given a very pleasing account of his 
 childhood, which was most tenderly cared for and 
 surrounded with indulgences. At a very early 
 age he began to develop that extreme sensitiveness 
 to external influences which has distinguished 
 him ever since. He was first taught at a school 
 in Rochefort, but at the age of seventeen, being 
 destined for the navy, he entered the great French 
 naval school, Le Borda, and has gradually risen 
 in his profession. His pseudonym is said to have 
 had reference to his extreme shyness and reserve 
 in early life, which made his comrades call him 
 after " le Loti!' ^^ Indian flower which loves to 
 blush unseen. He was never given to books or 
 
 study (when he was received at the French Acad' 
 
 xxiii 
 
Biographical Note 
 
 emy^ he had the courage to say^ " Loti ne sait pas 
 lire "), and it was not until his thirtieth year 
 that he was persuaded to write down and publish 
 certain curious experiences at Constantinople, in 
 ** Aziyad^y* a book which, like so many of Loti* s^ 
 seems half a romance, half an autobiography. 
 He proceeded to the South Seas, and, on leaving 
 Tahiti, published the Polynesian idyl, originally 
 called " Raharu," which was reprinted as '' Le 
 Mariage de Loti'' (^i88d), and which first intrth 
 duced to the wider public an author of remark 
 able originality and charm. Loti now became 
 extremely prolific, and in a succession of volumes 
 chronicled old exotic memories or manipulated the 
 journal of new travels. "Z^ Roman d'un 
 Spahi,** a record of the melancholy adventures of 
 a soldier in Senegambia, belongs to 1881. In 1882 
 Loti issued a collection of short studies under the 
 general title of " Fleurs d'EnnuiJ' In 1883 he 
 achieved the widest celebrity, for not only did he 
 publish " Mon Frhre Yves'' a novel describing 
 the life of a French bluejacket in all parts of the 
 world— perhaps, on the whole, to this day his 
 most characteristic production — but he was in- 
 volved in a public discussion in a manner which 
 did him great credit. While taking part as a 
 naval officer in the Tonquin war, Loti had ex* 
 
 xxiv 
 
Biographical Note 
 
 posed in a Parisian newspaper a seHes of scan* 
 dais which succeeded on the capture of Hui^ and^ 
 being recalled^ he was now suspended from the 
 service for more than a year. He continued for 
 some time nearly silent, but in 1886 he published 
 a novel of life among the Breton fisher-folk, en^ 
 titled *^ P^cheurf dVslande'* ; this has been the 
 most popular of all his writings. In i88y he 
 brought out a volume of extraordinary merits 
 which has never received the attention it deserves ; 
 this is " Propos d'Exil" a series of short studies 
 of exotic places, in Loti's peculiar semi-autobio- 
 graphic style. The fantastic romance offapanese 
 manners, " Madame Chrysanth^me," belongs to 
 the same year. Passing over one or two slighter 
 productions, we come, in 18 go, to ^^ Au Maroc," 
 the record of a journey to Fez in company with a 
 French embassy, A collection of strangely confi- 
 dential and sentimental reminiscences, called ^^Le 
 Livre de la Pitii et de la Mort,'* belongs to i8gi, 
 Loti was on board his ship at the port of Algiers 
 when news was brought to him of his election, on 
 the 2ist of May, i8gi, to the French Academy, 
 Since he has become an Immortal the literary ac- 
 tivity of Pierre Loti has somewhat declined. In 
 i8g2 he published ^^ Fantdme d' Orient," another 
 dreamy study of life in Constantinople, a sort of 
 
 XXV 
 
Biographical Note 
 
 continuation of ^^ Aziyadi'* He has described a 
 
 visit to the Holy Land in three volumes^ ** Le Di» 
 
 $ert*' '* Jerusalem" ''La GaliUe'' (iSpj-^d), and 
 
 he has written one novels " Ramentcho " (^i8gf), a 
 
 story of manners in the Basque province ^ which is 
 
 quite on a level with his best work. In i8^ he 
 
 collected his later essays as " Figures et C hoses qui 
 
 passaient** In iSgg-igoo Loti visited British 
 
 India, and in the autumn of the latter year 
 
 China ; and he has described what he saw there, 
 
 after the siege^ in a charming volumCy ** Verniers 
 
 Jours de Piking' iqo2» 
 
 E. G. 
 
 xxn 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Pierre Loti 
 
 VAGI 
 
 v-xxii 
 
 Life of Pierre Loti 
 
 Edmund Gosse 
 
 XXlll-XXVl 
 
 An Iceland Fisherman i 
 
 PART I 
 
 ON THE ICY SBA 
 
 CNAPTXK 
 
 I. The fishermen 3 
 
 II. Icelanders i6 
 
 III. The women at home 19 
 
 IV. Fh-st love 34 
 
 V. The second meeting .....•••• 39 
 
 VI. News from home 54 
 
 
 PART II 
 
 
 
 IN THE BRETON LAND 
 
 
 I. 
 
 The plaything of the storm , . ■ . , 
 
 . . 67 
 
 II. 
 
 A pardonable ruse 
 
 . . . 76 
 
 III. 
 
 Of sinister portent 
 
 . . 79 
 
 IV. 
 
 His reluctance ...... 
 
 . . 91 
 
 V. 
 
 Sailors at the play . . . • . • 
 
 . . 93 
 
 VI. 
 
 Ordered on foreign service . . • 
 xxvii 
 
 . , • 94 
 
An Iceland Fisherman 
 
 CMAPTM tAGM 
 
 VII. Moan's sweetheart .••..... 95 
 
 VIII. Old and young 98 
 
 IX. The eastern voyage loi 
 
 X. The Orient 106 
 
 XI. A curious rencontre 108 
 
 XII. Striking the rock unknown I16 
 
 XIII. Home news MO 
 
 PART m 
 
 IN THE SHADOW 
 
 I. The skirmish • • • , 1 27 
 
 II. «* Out, brief candle !" .132 
 
 III. The grave abroad 138 
 
 IV, To the survivors, the spdls 140 
 
 V. The death-blow 143 
 
 VI. A charitable assumption 1 50 
 
 VII. The comforter 151 
 
 VIII. The brother's grief 152 
 
 IX. Work cures sorrow . 1 54 
 
 X. The white fog 160 
 
 XI. The spectre ship 163 
 
 XII. The strange couple 170 
 
 XIII. Renewed disappointment 177 
 
 XIV. The Grandam breaking up 180 
 
 XV. The new ship 186 
 
 XVI. Lone and lorn 191 
 
 XVII. The espousal 195 
 
 PART IV 
 yann's first wedding 
 
 I. The courting by the sea 205 
 
 II. The seaman's secret • 207 
 
 III. The ominous wedding-dress . . c . * . 209 
 
 IV. Flower of the thorn « • • 210 
 
 xxviii 
 
CMAPTKR 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 I. 
 
 II. 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 
 V, 
 
 VI. 
 
 VII. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Contents 
 
 fAGB 
 
 The cost of obstinacy 212 
 
 The bridal 216 
 
 The discordant note 220 
 
 The blissful week 232 
 
 PART V 
 
 THE SECOND WEDDING 
 
 The start 243 
 
 The first of the fleet 250 
 
 All but two 253 
 
 Still at sea 254 
 
 Sharing the dread 255 
 
 All but one 259 
 
 The mourner's vision 262 
 
 The false alarm 265 
 
 Wedded to the sea 271 
 
 The Portraits of Pierre Loti 
 
 Octave Uzanne 
 
 273-280 
 
 VOL. 20 
 
 XXIX 
 
 Romances 2 
 
AN ICELAND FISHERMAN 
 
 PART I 
 
 ON THE ICY SEA 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 THE FISHERMEN 
 
 There they were, five huge, square-built sea- 
 men, drinking away together in the dismal cabin, 
 \yhich reeked of fish-pickle and bilge-water. The 
 overhead beams came down too low for their 
 tall statures, and rounded off at one end so as to 
 resemble a gull's breast, seen from within. The 
 whole rolled gently with a monotonous wail, in- 
 clining one slowly to drowsiness. 
 
 Outside, beyond doubt, lay the sea and the 
 night ; but one could not be quite sure of that, 
 for a single opening in the deck was closed by its 
 weather-hatch, and the only light came from an old 
 hanging-lamp, swinging to and fro. A fire shone 
 in the stove, at which their saturated clothes were 
 drying, and giving out steam that mingled with 
 the smoke from their clay pipes. 
 
 Their massive table, fitted exactly to its shape, 
 occupied the whole space ; and there was just 
 enough room for moving around and sitting 
 upon the narrow lockers fastened to the sides. 
 
 3 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 Thick beams ran above them, very nearly touch- 
 ing their heads, and behind them yawned the 
 berths, apparently hollowed out of the solid tim- 
 bers, like recesses of a vault wherein to place the 
 dead. All the wainscoting was rough and worn, 
 impregnated with damp and salt, defaced and pol- 
 ished by the continual rubbings of their hands. 
 
 They had been drinking wine and cider in 
 their pannikins, and the sheer enjoyment of life 
 lit up their frank, honest faces. Now, they lin- 
 gered at table chatting, in Breton tongue, on 
 women and marriage. A china statuette of the 
 Virgin Mary was fastened on a bracket against 
 the midship partition, in the place of honour. 
 This patron saint of our sailors was rather an- 
 tiquated, and painted with very simple art ; yet 
 these porcelain images live much longer than 
 real men, and her red and blue robe still 
 seemed very fresh in the midst of the sombre 
 greys of the poor wooden box. She must have 
 listened to many an ardent prayer in deadly 
 hours ; at her feet were nailed two nosegays of 
 artificial flowers and a rosary. 
 
 These half-dozen men were dressed alike ; a 
 thick blue woollen jersey clung to the body, 
 drawn in by the waist-belt ; on the head was 
 worn the waterproof helmet, known as the sou'- 
 
 4 
 
The Fishermen 
 
 wester. These men were of different ages. The 
 skipper might have been about forty ; the three 
 others between twenty-five and thirty. The 
 youngest, whom they called Sylvestre or " Lurlu," 
 was only seventeen, yet already a man for height 
 and strength ; a fine curly black beard covered 
 his cheeks ; still he had childlike eyes, bluish-grey 
 in hue, and sweet and tender in expression. 
 
 Huddled against one another, for want of 
 space, they seemed to feel downright comfort, 
 snugly packed in their dark home. 
 
 Outside spread the ocean and night — ^the infi- 
 nite solitude of dark fathomless waters. A brass 
 watch, hung on the wall, pointed to eleven o'clock 
 — doubtless eleven at night — and upon the deck 
 pattered the drizzling rain. 
 
 Among themselves, they treated these ques- 
 tions of marriage very merrily ; but without say- 
 ing anything indecent. No, indeed, they only 
 sketched plans for those who were still bachelors, 
 or related funny stories happening at home at 
 wedding-feasts. Sometimes with a happy laugh 
 they made some rather too free remarks about 
 the fun in love-making. But love-making, as 
 these men understand it, is always a healthy sen- 
 sation, and for all its coarseness remains tolerably 
 chaste. 
 
 5 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 But Sylvestre was worried, because a mate 
 called Jean (which Bretons pronounce *' Yann ") 
 did not come down below. Where could Yann 
 be, by the way ? was he lashed to his work on 
 deck ? Why did he not come below to take his 
 share in their feast ? 
 
 " It's close on midnight, hows'ever," observed 
 the captain ; and drawing himself up he raised 
 the scuttle with his head, so as to call Yann that 
 way. 
 
 Then a weird glimmer fell from above. 
 
 ** Yann ! Yann ! Look alive, matey ! " 
 
 "Matey" answered roughly from outside, 
 while through the half-opened hatchway the faint 
 light kept entering like that of dawn. Nearly 
 midnight, yet it looked like a peep of day, or the 
 light of the starry gloaming, sent from afar 
 through mystic lenses of magicians. 
 
 When the aperture closed, night reigned again, 
 save for the small lamp, " sended " now and again 
 aside, which shed its yellow light. A man in 
 clogs was heard coming down the wooden steps. 
 
 He entered bent in two like a big bear, for he 
 was a giant. At first he made a wry face, hold- 
 ing his nose, because of the acrid smell of the 
 souse. 
 
 He exceeded a littlQ too much the ordinary 
 
The Fishermen 
 
 proportions of man, especially in breadth, though 
 he was straight as a poplar. When he faced 
 you the muscles of his shoulders, moulded under 
 his blue jersey, stood out like great globes at the 
 tops of his arms. His large brown eyes were 
 very mobile, with a grand, wild expression. 
 
 Sylvestre threw his arms round Yann, and 
 drew him towards him tenderly, after the fashion 
 of children. Sylvestre was betrothed to Yann's 
 sister, and he treated him as an elder brother, of 
 course. And Yann allowed himself to be pulled 
 about like a young lion, answering by a kind 
 smile that showed his white teeth. These were 
 somewhat far apart, and appeared quite small. 
 His fair moustache was rather short, although 
 tiever cut. It was tightly curled in small rolls 
 above his lips, which were most exquisitely and 
 delicately modelled, and then frizzed off at the 
 ends on either side of the deep corners of his 
 mouth. The remainder of his beard was shaven, 
 and his highly coloured cheeks retained a fresh 
 bloom like that of fruit never yet handled. 
 
 When Yann was seated, the mugs were filled 
 up anew. 
 
 The lighting of all the pipes was an excuse 
 for the cabin boy to smoke a few whiffs himself. 
 He was a robust little fellow, with round cheeks 
 
 7 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 — 3, kind of little brother to them all, more or 
 less related to one another as they were ; other- 
 wise his work had been hard enough for the 
 darling of the crew. Yann let him drink out 
 of his own glass before he was sent to bed. 
 Thereupon the important topic of marriage was 
 revived. 
 
 ** But I say, Yann," asked Sylvestre, " when 
 are we going to celebrate your wedding ?" 
 
 ** You ought to be ashamed," said the master ; 
 " a hulking chap like you, twenty-seven years old, 
 and not yet spliced ; ho, ho ! What must the 
 lasses think of you when they see you roll by ? " 
 
 Yann answered by snapping his thick fingers 
 with a contemptuous look for the women folk. 
 He had just worked off his five years* govern- 
 ment naval service ; and it was as master-gunner 
 of the fleet that he had learned to speak good 
 French and hold sceptical opinions. He hemmed 
 and hawed and then rattled off his latest love ad- 
 venture, which had lasted a fortnight. 
 
 It happened in Nantes, a Free-and-Easy singer 
 for the heroine. One evening, returning from 
 the waterside, being slightly tipsy, he had entered 
 the music hall. At the door stood a woman sell- 
 ing big bouquets at twenty francs apiece. He 
 had bought one without quite knowing what he 
 
The Fishermen 
 
 should do with it, and before he was much more 
 than in had thrown it with great force at the vo- 
 calist upon the stage, striking her full in the face, 
 partly as a rough declaration of love, partly 
 through disgust for the painted doll that was too 
 pink for his taste. The blow had felled the woman 
 to the boards, and — she worshipped him during 
 the three following weeks. 
 
 "Why, bless ye, lads, when I left she made 
 me this here present of a real gold watch." 
 
 The better to show it them he threw it upon 
 the table like a worthless toy. 
 
 This was told with coarse words and oratorical 
 flourishes of his own. Yet this commonplace of 
 civilized life jarred sadly among such simple men, 
 with the grand solemnity of the ocean around 
 them ; in the glimmering of midnight, falling 
 from above, was an impression of the fleeting 
 summers of the far norlh country. 
 
 These ways of Yann greatly pained and sur- 
 prised Sylvestre. He was a girlish boy, brought 
 up in respect for holy things, by an old grand- 
 mother, the widow of a fisherman in the village 
 of Ploubazlanec. As a tiny child he used to go 
 every day with her to kneel and tell his beads 
 over his mother's grave. From the churchyard 
 on the cliff the grey waters of the Channel, where* 
 
 Q 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 in his father had disappeared in a shipwreck, could 
 be seen in the far distance. 
 
 As his grandmother and himself were poor 
 he had to take to fishing in his early youth, and 
 his childhood had been spent out on the open 
 water. Every night he said his prayers, and his 
 eyes still wore their religious purity. He was 
 captivating though, and next to Yann the finest- 
 built lad of the crew. His voice was very soft, 
 and its boyish tones contrasted markedly with his 
 tall height and black beard ; as he had shot up 
 very rapidly he was almost puzzled to find him- 
 self grown suddenly so tall and big. He ex- 
 pected to marry Yann*s sister soon, but never yet 
 had answered any girFs love advances. 
 
 There were only three sleeping bunks aboard, 
 one being double-berthed, so they "turned in" 
 alternately. 
 
 When they had finished their feast, celebrat- 
 ing the Assumption of their patron saint, it was 
 a little past midnight. Three of them crept away 
 to bed in the small dark recesses that resembled 
 coffin-shelves ; and the three others went up on 
 deck to get on with their often interrupted, heavy 
 labour of fish-catching; the latter were Yann, 
 Sylvestre, and one of their fellow-villagers known 
 as Guillaume. 
 
 10 
 
The Fishermen 
 
 It was daylight, the everlasting day of those 
 regions — a pale, dim light, resembling no other — 
 bathing all things, like the gleams of a setting 
 sun. Around them stretched an immense colour- 
 less waste, and excepting the planks of their ship, 
 all seemed transparent, ethereal, and fairy-like. 
 The eye could not distinguish what the scene 
 might be : first it appeared as a quivering mirror 
 that had no objects to reflect ; and in the distance 
 it became a desert of vapour ; and beyond that a 
 void, having neither horizon nor limits. 
 
 The damp freshness of the air was more in- 
 tensely penetrating than dry frost ; and when 
 breathing it, one tasted the flavour of brine. All 
 was calm, and the rain had ceased ; overhead the 
 clouds, without form or colour, seemed to con- 
 ceal that latent light that could not be explained ; 
 the eye could see clearly, yet one was still con- 
 scious of the night ; this dimness was all of an 
 indefinable hue. 
 
 The three men on deck had lived since their 
 childhood upon the frigid seas, in the very midst 
 of their mists, which are vague and troubled as 
 the background of dreams. They were accus- 
 tomed to see this varying infinitude play about 
 their paltry ark of planks, and their eyes were as 
 
 used to it as those of the great free ocean-birds. 
 
 II 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 The boat rolled gently with its everlasting 
 wail, as monotonous as a Breton song moaned 
 by a sleeper. Yann and Sylvestre had got their 
 bait and lines ready, while their mate opened a 
 barrel of salt, and whetting his long knife went 
 and sat behind them, waiting. 
 
 He did not have long to wait, or they either. 
 They scarcely had thrown their lines into the 
 calm, cold water in fact, before they drew in 
 huge heavy fish, of a steel-grey sheen. And 
 time after time the codfish let themselves be 
 hooked in a rapid and unceasing silent series. 
 The third man ripped them open with his long 
 knife, spread them flat, salted and counted them, 
 and piled up the lot — ^which upon their return 
 would constitute their fortune — behind them, all 
 still redly streaming and still sweet and fresh. 
 
 The hours passed monotonously, while in the 
 immeasurably empty regions beyond the light 
 slowly changed till it grew less unreal. What at 
 first had appeared a livid gloaming, like a north- 
 ern summer's eve, became now, without any in- 
 tervening "dark hour before dawn," something 
 like a smiling morn, reflected by all the facets of 
 the oceans in fading, roseate-edged streaks. 
 
 **You really ought to marry, Yann," said 
 Sylvestre, suddenly and very seriously this time, 
 
 12 
 
The Fishermen 
 
 still looking into the water. (He seemed to 
 know somebody in Brittany, who had allowed 
 herself to be captivated by the brown eyes of his 
 *' big brother," but he felt shy upon so solemn a 
 subject.) 
 
 ** Me ! Lor*, yes, some day I will marry." 
 He smiled, did the always contemptuous Yann, 
 rolling his passionate eyes. ** But I'll have none 
 of the lasses at home ; no, I'll wed the sea, and 
 I invite ye all in the barkey now, to the ball 
 I'll give at my wedding." 
 
 They kept on hauling in, for their time could 
 not be lost in chatting; they had an immense 
 quantity of fish in a travelling shoal, which had 
 not ceased passing for the last two days. 
 
 They had been up all night, and in thirty 
 hours had caught more than a thousand prime 
 cods ; so that even their strong arms were tired 
 and they were half asleep. But their bodies re- 
 mained active and they continued their toil, 
 though occasionally their minds floated off into 
 regions of profound sleep. But the free air 
 they breathed was as pure as that of the first 
 young days of the world, and so bracing, that 
 notwithstanding their weariness they felt their 
 chests expand and their cheeks glow as at 
 
 arising. 
 
 13 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 Morning, the true morning light, at length 
 came ; as in the days of Genesis, it had ** divided 
 from the darkness," which had settled upon the 
 horizon and rested there in great heavy masses ; 
 and by the clearness of vision now, it was seen 
 night had passed, and that that first vague strange 
 glimmer was only a forerunner. In the thickly- 
 veiled heavens, broke out rents here and there, 
 like side skylights in a dome, through which 
 pierced glorious rays of light, silver and rosy. 
 The lower-lying clouds were grouped round in a 
 belt of intense shadow, encircling the waters and 
 screening the far-off distance in darkness. They 
 hinted as of a space in a boundary ; they were 
 as curtains veiling the Infinite, or as draperies 
 drawn to hide the too majestic mysteries, 
 which would have perturbed the imagination of 
 mortals. 
 
 On this special morning, around the small 
 plank platform occupied by Yann and Sylvestre, 
 the shifting outer world had an appearance of 
 deep meditation, as though this were an altar 
 recently raised ; and the sheaves of sun-rays, 
 which darted like arrows under the sacred arch, 
 spread in a long glimmering stream over the 
 motionless waves, as over a marble floor. Then, 
 slowly and more slowly yet loomed still another 
 
 14 
 
The Fishermen 
 
 wonder ; a high, majestic, pink profile — it was a 
 promontory of gloomy Iceland. 
 
 Yann's wedding with the sea ? Sylvestre was 
 still thinking of it — after resuming his fishing 
 without daring to say anything more. He had 
 felt quite sad when his big brother had so turned 
 the holy sacrament of marriage into ridicule; 
 and it particularly had frightened him, as he was 
 superstitious. 
 
 For so long, too, he had mused on Yann's 
 marriage ! He had thought that it might take 
 place with Gaud M^vel, a blonde lass from 
 Paimpol ; and that he would have the happiness 
 of being present at the marriage-feast before 
 starting for the navy, that long five years' exile, 
 with its dubious return, the thought of whicH 
 already plucked at his heart-strings. # 
 
 Four o'clock in the morning now. The 
 watch below came up, all three, to relieve the 
 others. Still rather sleepy, drinking in chestfuls 
 of the fresh, chill air, they stepped up, drawing 
 their long sea-boots higher, and having to shut 
 their eyes, dazzled at first by a light so pale, yet 
 in such abundance. 
 
 Yann and Sylvestre took their breakfast of 
 biscuits, which they had to break with a mallet, 
 and began to munch noisily, laughing at their 
 
 15 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 being so very hard. They had become quite 
 merry again at the idea of going down to sleep, 
 snugly and warmly in their berths ; and clasping 
 each other round the waist they danced up to 
 the hatchway to an old song-tune. 
 
 Before disappearing through the aperture 
 they stopped to play with Turc, the ship's dog, a 
 young Newfoundland with great clumsy paws. 
 They sparred at him, and he pretended to bite 
 them like a young wolf, until he bit too hard 
 and hurt them, whereupon Yann, with a frown 
 and anger in his quick-changing eyes, pushed 
 him aside with an impatient blow that sent him 
 flying and made him howl. Yann had a kind 
 heart enough, but his nature remained rather un- 
 tamed, and when his physical being was touched, 
 a tender caress was often more like a manifesta- 
 tion of brutal violence. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ICELANDERS 
 
 Their smack was named La Marie, and her 
 
 master was Captain Guermeur. Every year she 
 
 set sail for the big dangerous fisheries, in the 
 
 frigid regions where the summers have no night. 
 
 i6 
 
Icelanders 
 
 She was a very old ship, as old as the statuette 
 of her patron saint itself. Her heavy, oaken 
 planks were rough and worn, impregnated with 
 ooze and brine, but still strong and stout, and 
 smelling strongly of tar. At anchor she looked 
 an old unwieldy tub from her so massive build, 
 but when blew the mighty western gales, her 
 lightness returned, like a sea-gull awakened by 
 the wind. Then she had her own style of tum- 
 bling over the rollers, and rebounding more 
 lightly than many newer ones, launched with all 
 your new fangles. 
 
 As for the crew of six men and the boy, they 
 were *' Icelanders," the valiant race of seafarers 
 whose homes are at Paimpol and Tr^guier, and 
 who from father to son are destined for the cod 
 fisheries., ^ 
 
 They hardly ever had seen a summer in 
 France. At the end of each winter they, with 
 other fishers, received the parting blessing in the 
 harbour of Paimpol. And for that f6te-day an 
 altar, always the same, and imitating a rocky 
 grotto, was erected on the quay ; and over it, in 
 the midst of anchors, oars, and nets, was en- 
 throned the Virgin Mary, calm, and beaming with 
 affection, the patroness of sailors ; she would be 
 brought from her chapel for the occasion, and 
 
 17 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 had looked upon generation after generation with 
 her same lifeless eyes, blessing the happy for 
 whom the season would be lucky, and the others 
 who never more would return. 
 
 The Host, followed by a slow procession of 
 wives, mothers, sweethearts, and sisters, was borne 
 round the harbour, where the boats bound for Ice- 
 land, bedecked, m^l-eolours, saluted it on its way. 
 The priest halted before each, giving them his 
 holy blessing ; and then the fleet started, leaving 
 the country desolate of husbands, lovers, and sons ; 
 and as the shores faded from their view, the crews 
 sang together in low, full voices, the hymns sacred 
 to " the Star of the Ocean." And every year saw 
 the same ceremonies, and heard the same good- 
 byes. 
 
 Then began the life out upon the open sea, 
 in the solitude of three or four rough compan- 
 ions, on the moving thin planks in the midst of 
 the seething waters of the northern seas. 
 
 Until now La Maries men had always re- 
 turned ; the " Virgin Star of the Ocean " had pro- 
 tected the ship that bore her name. The end of 
 August was the date for these homeward comings ; 
 but La Marie followed the custom of many Ice- 
 landers, which is merely to touch at Paimpol, and 
 then to sail down to the Gulf of Gascony, where 
 
 i8 
 
The Women at Home 
 
 fish fetches high prices, or farther on to the Sandy 
 Isles, with their salty swamps, where they buy 
 the salt for the next expedition. The crews of 
 lusty fellows stay a few days in the southern, sun- 
 kissed harbour-towns, intoxicated by the last rays 
 of summer, by the sweetness of the balmy air, 
 and by the downright jollity of youth. ^ 
 
 With the mists of autumn they return home 
 to Paimpol, or to the scattered huts of the land 
 of Goelo, to remain some time in their families, 
 in the midst of love, marriages, and births. Very 
 often they find unseen babies upon their return, 
 waiting for godfathers ere they can be baptized, 
 for many children are needed to keep up this race 
 of fishermen, which the Icelandic Moloch devours^ 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE WOMEN AT HOME 
 
 At Paimpol, one fine evening of this same 
 year, upon a Sunday in June, two women were 
 deeply busy in writing a letter. This took place 
 before a large open window, with a row of flower 
 pots on its heavy old granite sill. 
 
 As well as could be seen from their bending 
 over the table, both, were young. One wore a 
 
 19 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 very large old-fashioned cap ; the other quite a 
 small one, in the new style adopted by the wom- 
 en of Paimpol. They might have been taken 
 for two loving lasses writing a tender missive to 
 some handsome Icelander. 
 
 The one who dictated — the one with the large 
 head-dress — drew up her head, wool-gathering. 
 Oh, she was old, very old, too, notwithstanding 
 her look from behind, in her small brown shawl 
 — we mean downright old. A sweet old granny, 
 seventy at least. Very pretty, though, and still 
 fresh-coloured, with the rosy cheeks some old peo- 
 pie have. Her coiffe was drawn low upon the 
 forehead and upon the top of the head, was com- 
 posed of two or three large rolls of muslin that 
 seemed to telescope out of one another, and fell 
 on to the nape. Her venerable face, framed in 
 the pure white pleats, had almost a nun's look, 
 while her soft, tender eyes wore a kindly ex- 
 pression. She had not the vestige of a tooth 
 left, and when she laughed she showed her 
 round gums, which had still the freshness of 
 youth. 
 
 Although her chin had become as pointed " as 
 
 the toe of a sabot " (as she was in the habit of 
 
 saying), her profile was not spoiled by time ; and 
 
 it was easily imagined that in her youth it h^d 
 
 20 
 
The Women at Home 
 
 been regular and pure, like the saints* adorning a 
 church. 
 
 She looked through the window, trying to 
 think of news that might amuse her grandson at 
 sea. There existed not in the whole country of 
 Paimpol another dear old body like her, to invent 
 such funny stories upon everybody, and even upon 
 nothing. Already in this letter there were three 
 or four merry tales, but without the slightest 
 mischief, for she had nothing ill-natured about 
 her. 
 
 The other woman, finding that ideas were 
 getting scarce, began to write the address care- 
 fully: 
 
 *« To Monsieur Moan, Sylvestre, 
 Aboard the Marie^ 
 
 (Jo Captain Guermeur, 
 
 In the Sea of Iceland, near Rykawyk.** 
 
 Here sh6 lifted her head to ask : " Is that all. 
 Granny Moan?" 
 
 The querist was young, adorably young, a girl 
 of twenty in fact ; very fair — a rare complexion 
 in this corner of Brittany, where the race runs 
 swarthy — very fair, we say, with great grey eyes 
 between almost black lashes ; her brows, as fair 
 fs the hair, seemed as if they had a darker streak 
 
 21 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 in their midst, which gave a wonderful expression 
 of strength and will to the beautiful face. The 
 rather short profile was very dignified, the nose 
 continuing the line of the brow with absolute 
 rectitude, as in a Greek statue. A deep dimple 
 under the lower lip foiled it up delightfully ; and 
 from time to time, when she was absorbed by a 
 particular idea, she bit this lower lip with her 
 white upper teeth, making the blood run in tiny 
 red veins under the delicate skin. In her supple 
 form there was no little pride, with gravity also, 
 which she inherited from the bold Icelandic sail- 
 ors, her ancestors. The expression of her eyes 
 was both steady and gentle. 
 
 Her. cap was in the shape of a cockle-shell, 
 worn low on the brow, and drawn back on either 
 side, showing thick tresses of hair about the ears, 
 a head-dress that has remained from remote times 
 and gives quite an olden look to the women of 
 P^mpol. 
 
 One felt instinctively that she had been 
 reared differently than the poor old woman to 
 whom she gave the name of grandmother, but 
 who in reality was but a distant great-aunt. 
 
 She was the daughter of M. M^vel, a former 
 Icelander, a bit of a freebooter, who had made 
 a fortune by bold undertakings out at sea* 
 
 22 
 
The Women at Home 
 
 The fine room where the letter had been jusi 
 written was hers ; a new bed, such as townspeo- 
 ple have, with muslin lace-edged curtains, and 
 on the stone walls a light-coloured paper, ton- 
 ing down the irregularities of the granite ; over- 
 head a coating of whitewash covered the great 
 beams that revealed the antiquity of the abode ; 
 it was the home of well-to-do folk, and the 
 windows looked out upon the old gray mar- 
 ,ket-place of Paimpol, where the pardons are 
 held. / 
 
 " Is it done, Granny Yvonne? Have you 
 nothing else to tell him ? " 
 
 '* No, my lass, only I would like you to add 
 a word of greeting to young Gaos." 
 
 "Young Gaos" was otherwise called Yann. 
 The proud beautiful girl had blushed very red 
 when she wrote those words. And as soon as 
 they, were added at the bottom of the page, in a 
 running hand, she rose and turned her head aside 
 as if to look at some very interesting object out 
 on the market-place. 
 
 Standing, she was rather tall ; her waist lyas 
 modelled in a clinging bodice, as perfectly fitting 
 as that of a fashionable dame. In spite of her 
 cap, she looked like a real lady. Even her 
 hands, without being conventionally small, were 
 
 VOL. 20 23 Romances 3 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 white and delicate, never having touched rough 
 work. 
 
 True, she had been at first little Gaud 
 (Daisy), paddling bare-footed in the water, moth- 
 erless, almost wholly neglected during the season 
 of the fisheries, which her father spent in Ice- 
 land ; a pretty, untidy, obstinate girl, but grow- 
 ing vigorous and strong in the bracing sea-breeze. 
 In those days she had been sheltered, during the 
 fine summers, by poor Granny Moan, who used 
 to give her Sylvestre to mind during her days of 
 hard work in Paimpol. Gaud felt the adoration 
 of a young mother for the child confided to her 
 tender care. She was his elder by about eight- 
 een months. He was as dark as she was fair, as 
 obedient and caressing as she was hasty and ca- 
 pricious. She well remembered that part of her 
 life ; neither wealth nor town life had altered it ; 
 and like a far-off dream of wild freedom it came 
 back to her, or as the remembrance of an unde- 
 fined and mysterious previous existence, where 
 the sandy shores seemed longer, and the cliffs 
 higher and nobler. 
 
 Towards the age of five or six, which seemed 
 
 long ago to her, wealth had befallen her father, 
 
 who began to buy and sell the cargoes of ships. 
 
 She had been taken to Saint-Brieuc, and later 
 
 24 
 
The Women at Home 
 
 to Paris. And from la petite Gaud she had 
 become Mademoiselle Marguerite, tall and se- 
 rious, with earnest eyes. Always left to herself, 
 in another kind of solitude than that of the 
 Breton coast, she still retained the obstinate na- 
 ture of her childhood. 
 
 Living in large towns, her dress had become 
 more modified than herself. Although she still 
 wore the coiffe that Breton women discard so sel- 
 dom, she had learned to dress herself in another 
 way. 
 
 Every year she had returned to Brittany with 
 her father — in the summer only, like a fashion- 
 able, coming to bathe in the sea — and lived again 
 in the midst of old memories, delighted to hear 
 herself called Gaud, rather curious to see these 
 Icelanders of whom so much was said, who were 
 never at home, and of whom, each year, some 
 were missing ; on all sides she heard the name of 
 Iceland, which appeared to her as a distant in- 
 satiable abyss. And there, now, was the man 
 she loved ! 
 
 One fine day she had returned to live in the 
 midst of these fishers, through a whim of her fa- 
 ther, who had wished to end his days there, and 
 live like a landsman in the market-place of 
 Paimpol. 
 
 35 
 
i 
 
 On the Icy Sea 
 
 The good old dame, poor but tidy, left Gaud 
 with cordial thanks as soon as the letter had been 
 read again and the envelope closed. She lived 
 rather far away, at the other end of Ploubazlanec, 
 in a hamlet on the coast, in the same cottage 
 where she first had seen the light of day, and 
 where her sons and grandsons had been born. 
 In the town, as she passed along, she answered 
 many friendly nods ; she was one of the oldest 
 inhabitants of the country, the last of a worthy 
 and highly esteemed family. 
 
 With great care and good management she 
 managed to appear pretty well dressed, although 
 her gowns were much darned, and hardly held 
 together. She always wore the tiny brown 
 Paimpol shawl, which was for best, and upon 
 which the long muslin rolls of her white caps had 
 fallen for past sixty years ; her own marriage 
 shawl, formerly blue, had been dyed for the 
 wedding of her son Pierre, and since then worn 
 only on Sundays, looked quite nice. 
 
 She still carried herself very straight, not at all 
 
 like an old woman ; and, in spite of her pointed 
 
 chin, her soft eyes and delicate profile made all 
 
 think her still very charming. She was held in 
 
 great respect — one could see that if only by the 
 
 nods that people gave her. 
 
 26 
 
The Women at Home 
 
 On her way she passed before the house of 
 her gallant, the sweetheart of former days, a car- 
 penter by trade; now an octogenarian, who sat 
 outside his door all the livelong day, while the 
 young ones, his sons, worked in the shop. It 
 was said that he never had consoled himself for 
 her loss, for neither in first or second marriage 
 would she have him ; but with old age his feeling 
 for her had become a sort of comical spite, half 
 friendly and half mischievous, and he always 
 called out to her : 
 
 " Aha, la belle, when must I call to take your 
 measure ? " 
 
 But she declined with thanks; she had not 
 yet quite decided to have that dress made. The 
 truth is, that the old man, with rather question- 
 able taste, spoke of the suit in deal planks, which 
 is the last of all our terrestrial garments. 
 
 ** Well, whenever you like ; but don't be shy 
 in asking for it, you know, old lady." 
 
 He had made this joke several times; but, 
 to-day, she could scarcely take it good-naturedly. 
 She felt more tired than ever of her hard-work- 
 ing life, and her thoughts flew back to her dear 
 grandson — the last of them all, who, upon his 
 return from Iceland, was to enter the navy for 
 
 five years ! Perhaps he might have to go to 
 
 2; 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 China, to the war ! Would she still be about, 
 upon his return ? The thought alone was agony 
 to her. No, she was surely not so happy as she 
 looked, poor old granny ! 
 
 And was it really possible and true, that her 
 last darling was to be torn from her ? She, per- 
 haps, might die alone, without seeing him again ! 
 Certainly, some gentlemen of the town, whom 
 she knew, had done all they could to keep him 
 from having to start, urging that he was the sole 
 support of an old and almost destitute grand- 
 mother, who could no longer work. But they 
 had not succeeded — because of Jean Moan, the 
 deserter, an elder brother of Sylvestre's, whom 
 no one in the family ever mentioned now, but 
 who still lived somewhere over in America, thus 
 depriving his younger brother of the military ex- 
 emption. Moreover, it had been objected that 
 she had her small pension, allowed to the widows 
 of sailors, and the Admiralty could not deem her 
 poor enough. 
 
 When she returned home, she said her pray- 
 ers at length for all her dead ones, sons and 
 grandsons ; then she prayed again with re- 
 newed strength and confidence for her Sylves- 
 tre, and tried to sleep — thinking of the *'suit 
 
 of wood," her heart sadly aching at the thought 
 
 28 
 
The Women at Home 
 
 of being so old, when this new parting was im- 
 minent. 
 
 Meanwhile, the other victim of separation, the 
 girl, had remained seated at her window, gazing 
 upon the golden rays of the setting sun, reflected 
 on the granite walls, and the black swallows 
 wheeling across the sky above. Paimpol was 
 always quiet on these long May evenings, even 
 on Sundays ; the lasses, who had not a single lad 
 to make love to them, sauntered along, in couples 
 or three together, brooding of their lovers in 
 Iceland. 
 
 " A word of greeting to young Gaos ! " She 
 had been greatly affected in writing that sentence, 
 and that name, which now she could not forget. 
 She often spent her evenings here at the window, 
 like a grand lady. Her father did not approve 
 of her walking with the other girls of her age, 
 who had been her early playmates. And as he 
 left thejcafe, and walked up and down, smoking 
 his pipe with old seamen like himself, he was 
 happy to look up at his daughter among her 
 flowers, in his grand house. 
 
 " Young Gaos ! " Against her will she gazed 
 
 seaward ; it could not be seen, but she felt it was 
 
 nigh, at the end of the tiny street crowded with 
 
 fishermen. And her thoughts travelled through 
 
 29 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 a fascinating and delightful infinite, far, far away 
 to the northern seas, where " La Marie, Captain 
 Guermeur," was sailing. A strange man was young 
 Gaos ! retiring and almost incomprehensible now, 
 after having come forward so audaciously, yet so 
 lovingly. 
 
 In her long reverie, she remembered her return 
 to Brittany, which had taken place the year be- 
 fore. One December morning, after a night of 
 travelling, the train from Paris had deposited her 
 father and herself at Guingamp. It was a damp, 
 foggy morning, cold and almost dark. She had 
 been seized with a previously unknown feeling ; 
 she could scarcely recognise the quaint little 
 town, which she had only seen during the sum- 
 mer—oh, that glad old time, the dear old times of 
 the past ! This silence, after Paris ! This quiet 
 life of people, who seemed of another world, 
 going about their simple business in the misty 
 morning. But the sombre granite houses, with 
 their dark, damp walls, and the Breton charm 
 upon all things, which fascinated her now that 
 she loved Yann, had seemed particularly sadden- 
 ing upon that morning. Early housewives were 
 already opening their doors, and as she passed she 
 could glance into the old-fashioned houses, with 
 their tall chimney-pieces, where sat the old granJ- 
 
 30 
 
The Women at Home 
 
 mothers, in their white caps, quiet and dignified. 
 As soon as daylight had begun to appear, she had 
 entered the church to say her prayers, and the 
 grand old aisle had appeared immense and shad- 
 owy to her — quite different from all the Parisian 
 churches — with its rough pillars worn at the base 
 by the chafing of centuries, and its damp, earthy 
 smell of age and saltpetre. 
 
 In a damp recess, behind the columns, a taper 
 was burning, before which knelt a woman, mak- 
 ing a vow; the dim flame seemed lost in the 
 vagueness of the arches. Gaud experienced there 
 the feeling of a long-forgotten impression : that 
 kind of sadness and fear that she had felt when 
 quite young at being taken to mass at Paimpol 
 Church on raw, wintry mornings. 
 
 But she hardly regretted Paris, although 
 there were many splendid and amusing sights 
 there. In the first place she felt almost cramped 
 from having the blood of the vikings in her 
 veins. And then, in Paris, she felt like a stran- 
 ger and an intruder. The Parisiennes were 
 tight-laced, artificial women, who had a peculiar 
 way of walking ; and Gaud was too intelligent 
 even to have attempted to imitate them. In her 
 head-dress, ordered every year from the maker in 
 Paimpol, she felt out of her element in the capi- 
 
 31 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 tal J and did not understand that if the wayfarers 
 turned round to look at her, it was only because 
 she made a very charming picture. 
 
 Some of these Parisian ladies quite won her 
 by their high-bred and distinguished manners, 
 but she knew them to be inaccessible to her, 
 while from others of a lower caste who would 
 have been glad to make friends with her, she 
 kept proudly aloof, judging them unworthy of 
 her attention. Thus had she lived almost with- 
 out friends, without other society than her fa- 
 ther's, who was engaged in business and often 
 away. So she did not regret that life of es- 
 trangement and solitude. 
 
 But, none the less, on that day of arrival she 
 had been painfully surprised by the bitterness of 
 this Brittany, seen in full winter. And her 
 heart sickened at the thought of having to travel 
 another live or six hours in a jolting car — to 
 penetrate still farther into the blank, desolate 
 country to reach Paimpol. 
 
 All through the afternoon of that same grisly 
 day, her father and herself had journeyed in a 
 little old ramshackle vehicle, open to all the 
 winds ; passing, with the falling night, through 
 dull villages, under the ghostly trees, black- 
 pearled with mist in drops. And ere long Ian- 
 
 32 
 
The Women at Home 
 
 terns had to be lit, and she could perceive noth- 
 ing else but what seemed two trails of green 
 Bengal lights, running on each side before the 
 horses, and which were merely the beams that 
 the two lanterns projected on the never-ending 
 hedges of the roadway. But how was it that 
 trees were so green in the month of December ? 
 Astonished at first, she bent to look out, and 
 then she remembered how the gorse, the ever- 
 green gorse of the paths and the cliffs, never 
 fades in the country of Paimpol. At the * same 
 time a warmer breeze began to blow, which she 
 knew again and which smelt of the sea. 
 
 Towards the end of the journey she had been 
 quite awakened and amused by the new notion 
 that struck her, namely : " As this is winter, I 
 shall see the famous fishermen of Iceland." 
 
 For in December they were to return, the 
 brothers, cousins, and lovers of whom all her 
 friends, great and small, had spoken to her dur- 
 ing the long summer evening walks in her holi- 
 day trips. And the thought had haunted her, 
 though she felt chilled in the slow-going vehicle. 
 
 Now she had seen them, and her heart had 
 been captured by one of them too. 
 
 33 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 FIRST LOVB 
 
 The first day she had seen him, this Yann, 
 was the day after his arrival, at the " Pardon des 
 Islandazs" which is on the eighth of December, 
 the f^te-day of Our Lady of Bonne-Nouvelle, 
 the patroness of fishers — ^a little before the pro- 
 cession, with the gray streets, still draped in 
 white sheets, on which were strewn ivy and 
 holly and wintry blossoms with their leaves. 
 
 At this Pardon the rejoicing was heavy and 
 wild under the sad sky. Joy without merri- 
 ment, composed chiefly of insouciance and con- 
 tempt ; of physical strength and alcohol ; above 
 which floated, less disguised than elsewhere, the 
 universal warning of death. 
 
 A great clamour in Paimpol ; sounds of bells 
 mingled with the chants of the priests. Rough 
 and monotonous songs in the taverns— old sailor 
 lullabies — songs of woe, arisen from the sea, 
 drawn from the deep night of bygone ages. 
 Groups of sailors, arm-in-arm, zigzagging through 
 the streets, from their habit of rolling, and be- 
 cause they were half^drunk. Groups of girls in 
 their nun-like white caps. Old granite houses. 
 
 - S4 
 
First Love 
 
 sheltering these seething crowds ; antiquated 
 roofs telling of their struggles, through many 
 centuries, against the western winds, the mist, 
 and the rain ; and relating, too, many stories of 
 love and adventiue that had passed under their 
 protection. 
 
 And floating over all was a deep religious 
 sentiment, a feeling of bygone days, with respect 
 for ancient veneration and the symbols that pro- 
 tect it, and for the white, immaculate Virgin. 
 Side by side with the taverns rose the church, 
 its deep sombre portals thrown open, and steps 
 strewn with flowers, with its perfume of incense, 
 its lighted tapers, and the votive offerings of 
 sailors hung all over the sacred arch. And side 
 by side also with the happy girls were the sweet- 
 hearts of dead sailors, and the widows of the 
 shipwrecked fishers, quitting the chapel of the 
 dead in their long mourning shawls and their 
 smooth tiny coiffes ; with eyes downward bent, 
 noiselessly they passed through the midst of this 
 clamouring life, like a sombre warning. And 
 close to all was the everlasting sea, the huge 
 nurse and devourer of these vigorous genera- 
 tions, becoming fierce and agitated as if to take 
 part in the f6te. 
 
 Gaud had but a confused impression of all 
 35 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 these things together. Excited and merry, yet 
 with her heart aching, she felt a sort of anguish 
 seize her at the idea that this country had now 
 become her own again. On the market-place, 
 where there were games and acrobats, she walked 
 up and down with her friends, who named and 
 pointed out to her from time to time the young 
 men of Paimpol or Ploubazlanec. A group of 
 these " Icelanders" were standing before the sing- 
 ers of '' complaintes'* * with their backs turned to- 
 wards them. And directly Gaud was struck with 
 one of them, tall as a giant, with huge shoulders 
 almost too broad; but she had simply said, 
 perhaps with a touch of mockery : " There is one 
 who is tall, to say the least ! " And the sen- 
 tence implied beneath this was : " What an in- 
 cumbrance he*ll be to the woman he marries, a 
 husband of that size I " 
 
 He had turned round as if he had heard her, 
 and had given her a quick glance from top to 
 toe, seeming to say : " Who is this girl who 
 wears the coiffe of Paimpol, who is so elegant, 
 and whom I never have seen before ? " 
 
 And he quickly bent his eyes to the ground 
 for politeness* sake, and had appeared to take a 
 
 * Complainte — a song of woe, 
 
 36 
 
First Love 
 
 renewed interest in the singers, only showing the 
 back of his head and his black hair that fell in 
 rather long curls upon his neck. And although 
 she had asked the names of several others, she 
 had not dared ask his. The fine profile, the 
 grand half-savage look, the brown, almost tawny 
 pupils moving rapidly on the bluish opal of the 
 eyes; all this had impressed her and made her 
 timid. 
 
 And it just happened to be that " Fils Gaos," 
 of whom she had heard the Moans speak as a 
 great friend of Sylvestre's. On the evening of 
 this same Pardon, Sylvestre and he, walking 
 arm-in-arm, had crossed her father and herself, 
 and had stopped to wish them good-day. 
 
 And young Sylvestre had become again to 
 her as a sort of brother. As they were cousins 
 they had continued to tutoyer * each other ; true, 
 she had at first hesitated doing so to this great 
 boy of seventeen, who already wore a black 
 beard, but as his kind, soft, childish eyes had 
 hardly changed at all, she recognized him soon 
 enough to imagine that she never had lost sight 
 of him. 
 
 When he used to come into Paimpol, she 
 
 * Tutoyer — using thou for you. A sign of familiarity. 
 
 37 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 kept him to dinner of an evening ; it was without 
 consequence to her, and he always had a very 
 good appetite, being on rather short rations at 
 home. 
 
 To speak truly, Yann had not been very po- 
 lite to her at this first meeting, which took place 
 at the corner of a tiny gray street, strewn with 
 green branches. He had raised his hat to her, 
 with a noble though timid gesture ; and after 
 having given her an ever-rapid glance, turned his 
 eyes away, as if he were vexed with this meeting 
 and in a hurry to go. A strong western breeze 
 that had arisen during the procession, had scat- 
 tered branches of box everywhere and loaded the 
 sky with dark gray draperies. 
 
 Gaud, in her dreamland of remembrances, 
 saw all this clearly again ; the sad gloaming fall- 
 ing upon the remains of the Pardon ; the 
 sheets strewn with white flowers floating in the 
 wind along the walls ; the noisy groups of Ice- 
 landers, other waifs of the gales and tempests 
 flocking into the taverns, singing to cheer them- 
 selves under the gloom of the coming rain ; and 
 above all. Gaud remembered the giant standing 
 in front of her, turning aside as if annoyed, and 
 troubled at having met her. 
 
 What a wonderful change had come over her 
 3^ 
 
The Second Meeting 
 
 since then ; and what a difference there was be- 
 tween that hubbub and the present tranquility ! 
 How quiet and empty Paimpol seemed to-night 
 in the warm long twilight of May, which kept 
 her still at her window alone, lulled in her love*s 
 young dream ! 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE SECOND MEETING 
 
 Their second meeting was at a wedding-feast 
 Young Gaos had been chosen to offer her his 
 arm. At first she had been rather vexed, not 
 liking the idea of strolling through the streets 
 with this tall fellow, whom everybody would 
 stare at, on account of his excessive height, and 
 who, most probably, would not know what to 
 speak to her about. Besides, he really fright- 
 ened her with his wild, lofty look. 
 
 At the appointed hour all were assembled for 
 the wedding procession save Yann, who .had not 
 appeared. Time passed, yet he did not come, 
 and they talked of giving up any further waiting 
 for him. Then it was she discovered that it was 
 for his pleasure, and his alone, that she had 
 donned her best dress ; with any other of the 
 
 39 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 young men present at the ball, the evening*s en- 
 joyment would be spoiled. 
 
 At last he arrived, in his best clothes also, 
 apologizing, without any embarrassment, to the 
 bride's party. The excuse was, that some im- 
 portant shoals of fish, not at all expected, had 
 been telegraphed from England, as bound to 
 pass that night a little off Aurigny ; and so all 
 the boats of Ploubazlanec hastily had set sail. 
 There was great excitement in the villages, 
 women rushing about to find their husbands and 
 urging them to put off quickly, and struggling 
 hard themselves to hoist the sails and help in the 
 launching; in fact, a regular "turnout" through- 
 out the places, though in the midst of the com- 
 pany Yann related this very simply ; he had been 
 obliged to look out for a substitute and warrant 
 him to the owner of the boat to which he be- 
 longed for the winter season. It was this that 
 had caused him to be late, and in order not to 
 miss the wedding, he had "turned up" (aban- 
 doned) his share in the profits of the catch. His 
 plea was perfectly well understood by his hearers, 
 no one thinking of blaming him ; for well all 
 know that, in this coast life, all are more or less 
 dependent upon the unforeseen events at sea, 
 
 and the mysterious migrations of the fishy le- 
 
 40 
 
The Second Meeting 
 
 gions. The other Icelanders present were disap- 
 pointed at not having been warned in time, like 
 the fishers of Ploubazlanec, of the fortune that 
 was skirting their very shores. 
 
 But it was too late now, worse luck! So 
 they gave their arms to the lasses, the violins 
 began to play, and joyously they all tramped out. 
 
 At first Yann had only paid her a few inno- 
 cent compliments, such as fall to a chance partner 
 met at a wedding, and of whom one knows but 
 little. Amidst all the couples in the procession, 
 they formed the only one of strangers, the others 
 were all relatives or sweethearts. 
 
 But during the evening while the dancing 
 was going on, the talk between them had again 
 turned to the subject of the fish, and looking her 
 straight in the eyes, he roughly said to her : 
 
 **You are the only person about Paimpol, 
 and even in the world, for whom I would have 
 missed such a windfall ; truly, for nobody else 
 would I have come back from my fishing, Mad- 
 emoiselle Gaud." 
 
 At first she was rather astonished that this 
 fisherman should dare so to address her who had 
 come to this ball rather like a young queen, but 
 then delighted, she had ended by answering : 
 
 "Thank you. Monsieur Yann; and I, too, 
 
 41 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 would rather be with you than with anybody 
 else." 
 
 That was all. But from that moment until 
 the end of the dancing, they kept on chatting in 
 a different tone than before, low and soft-voiced. 
 
 The dancing was to the sound of a hurdy- 
 gurdy and violin, the same couples almost always 
 together. When Yann returned to invite her 
 again, after having danced with another girl for 
 politeness' sake, they exchanged a smile, like 
 friends meeting anew, and continued their inter- 
 rupted conversation, which had become very 
 close. Simply enough, Yann spoke of his fisher 
 life, its hardships, its wage, and of his parents* 
 difficulties in former years, when they had four- 
 teen little Gaoses to bring up, he being the eldest. 
 Now, the old folks were out of the reach of need, 
 because of a wreck that their father had found in 
 the Channel, the sale of which had brought in 
 10,000 francs, omitting the share claimed by the 
 Treasury. With the money they built an upper 
 story to their house, which was situated at the 
 point of Ploubazlanec, at the very land's end, in 
 the hamlet of Pors-Even, overlooking the sea, 
 and having a grand outlook. 
 
 " It is mighty tough, though," said he, "this 
 here life of an Icelander, having to start in Feb- 
 
 42 
 
The Second Meeting 
 
 ruary for such a country, where it is awful cold 
 and bleak, with a raging, foaming sea." 
 
 Gaud remembered every phrase of their con- 
 versation at the ball, as if it had all happened yes- 
 terday, and details came regularly back to her 
 mind, as she looked upon the night falling over 
 PaimpoL If Yann had had no idea of marriage, 
 why had he told her all the items of his existence, 
 to which she had listened, as only an engaged 
 sweetheart would have done ; he did not seem a 
 commonplace young man, prone to babbling his 
 business to everybody who came along. 
 
 ** The occupation is pretty good, nevertheless," 
 he said, " and I shall never change my career. 
 Some years we make eight hundred francs, and 
 others twelve hundred, which I get upon my 
 return, and hand over to the old lady." 
 
 **To your mother. Monsieur Yann, eh?" 
 
 "Yes, every penny of it, always. It's the 
 custom with us Icelanders, Mademoiselle Gaud." 
 He spoke of this as a quite ordinary and natural 
 course. 
 
 " Perhaps you'll hardly believe it, but I 
 scarcely ever have any pocket-money. Of a 
 Sunday mother gives me a little when I come 
 into Paimpol. And so it goes all the time. 
 Why, look 'ee here, this year my father had 
 
 43 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 these clothes made for me, without which treat 
 I never could have come to the wedding ; certain 
 sure, for I never should have dared offer you my 
 arm in my old duds of last year." 
 
 For one like her, accustomed to seeing Paris- 
 ians, Yann's habiliments were, perhaps, not very 
 stylish; a short jacket open over the old-fash- 
 ioned waistcoat ; but the build of their wearer 
 was irreproachably handsome, so that he had a 
 noble look withal. 
 
 Smiling, he looked at her straight in the 
 depths of her eyes each time he spoke to her, so 
 as to divine her opinion. And how good and 
 honest was his look, as he told her all these short- 
 comings, so that she might well understand that 
 •he was not rich ! 
 
 And she smiled also, as she gazed at him full 
 in the face ; answering seldom, but listening with 
 her whole soul, more and more astonished and 
 more and more drawn towards him. What a 
 mixture of untamed roughness and caressing 
 childishness he was ! His earnest voice, short 
 and blunt towards others, became softer and 
 more and more tender as he spoke to her ; and 
 for her alone he knew how to make it trill with 
 extreme sweetness, like the music of a stringed 
 instrument with the mute upon it. 
 
 44 
 
The Second Meeting 
 
 What a singular and astonishing fact it was 
 to see this man of brawn, with his free air and 
 forbidding aspect, always treated by his family 
 like a child, and deeming it quite natural ; having 
 travelled over all the earth, met with all sorts of 
 adventures, incurred all dangers, and yet showing 
 the same respectful and absolute obedience to 
 his parents. 
 
 She compared him to others, two or three 
 dandies in Paris, clerks, quill-drivers, or what not, 
 who had pestered her with their attentions, for 
 the sake of her money. He seemed to be the 
 best, as well as the most handsome, man she had 
 ever met. 
 
 To put herself more on an equality with him 
 she related how, in her own home, she had not 
 always been so well-off as at present; that her 
 father had begun life as a fisherman off Iceland, 
 and always held the Icelanders in great esteem ; 
 and that she herself could clearly remember as a 
 little child, having run barefooted upon the beach, 
 after her poor mother's death. 
 
 Oh ! the exquisite night of that ball, unique 
 in her life ! It seemed far away now, for it 
 dated back to December, and May had already 
 returned. All the sturdy partners of that even- 
 ing were out fishing yonder now, scattered over 
 
 45 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 the far northern seas, in the clear pale sun, in in- 
 tense loneliness, while the dust thickened silently 
 on the land of Brittany. 
 
 Still Gaud remained at her window. The 
 market-place of Paimpol, hedged in on all sides 
 by the old-fashioned houses, became sadder and 
 sadder with the darkling ; everywhere reigned si- 
 lence. Above the housetops the still brilliant 
 space of the heavens seemed to grow more 
 hollow, to raise itself up and finally separate 
 itself from all terrestrial things : these, in the 
 last hour of day, were entirely blended into 
 the single dark outline of the gables of olden 
 roofs. 
 
 From time to time a window or door wou4d 
 be suddenly closed ; some old sailor, shaky upon 
 his legs, would blunder out of the tavern and 
 plunge into the small dark streets; or girls 
 passed by, returning home late after their walk 
 and carrying nosegays of May-flowers. One of 
 them who knew Gaud, calling out good-evening 
 to her, held up a branch of hawthorn high 
 towards her as if to offer it her to smell ; in the 
 transparent darkness she could distinguish the 
 airy tufts of its white blossoms. From the gar- 
 dens and courts floated another soft perfume, 
 
 that of the flowering honeysuckle along the 
 
 46 
 
The Second Meeting 
 
 granite walls, mingled with a vague smell of sea- 
 weed in the harbour. 
 
 Bats flew silently through the air above, like 
 hideous creatures in a dream. 
 
 Many and many an evening had Gaud passed 
 at her window, gazing upon the melancholy 
 market-place, thinking of the Icelanders who 
 were far away, and always of that same ball. 
 
 Yann was a capital waltzer, as straight as a 
 young oak, moving with a graceful yet dignified 
 bearing, his head thrown well back, his brown, 
 curled locks falling upon his brow, and floating 
 with the motion of the dance. Gaud, who was 
 rather tall herself, felt their contact upon her cap, 
 as he bent towards her to grasp her more tightly 
 during the swift movements. 
 
 Now and then he pointed out to her his little 
 sister Marie, dancing with Sylvestre, who was 
 \itx fianc^. He smiled with a very tender look 
 at seeing them both so young and yet so reserved 
 towards one another, bowing gravely, and put- 
 ting on very timid airs as they communed lowly, 
 on most amiable subjects, no doubt. 
 
 Of course, Yann would never have allowed it 
 to be otherwise ; yet it amused him, venturesome 
 and bold as he was, to find them so coy ; and he 
 and Gaud exchanged one of their confidential 
 
 VOL. 20 47 Romances 4 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 smiles, seeming to say : " How pretty, but how 
 funny our little brother is ! " 
 
 Towards the close of the evening, all the 
 girls received the breaking-up kiss ; cousins, be- 
 trothed, and lovers, all, in a good frank, honest 
 way, before everybody. But, of course, Yann 
 had not kissed Gaud ; none might take that lib- 
 erty with the daughter of M. M^vel ; but he 
 seemed to strain her a little more tightly to him 
 during the last waltzes, and she, trusting him, 
 did not resist, but yielded closer still, giving up 
 her whole soul, in the sudden, deep, and joyous 
 attraction that bound her to him. 
 
 " Did you see the saucy minx, what eyes she 
 made at him ? " queried two or three girls, with 
 their own eyes timidly bent under their golden 
 or black brows, though they had among the 
 dancers one or two lovers, to say the least. And 
 truly Gaud did look at Yann very hard, only she 
 had the excuse that he was the first and only 
 young man whom she ever had noticed in her 
 life. 
 
 At dawn, when the party broke up and left 
 in confusion, they had taken leave of one 
 another, like betrothed ones, who are sure to 
 meet the following day. To return home, she 
 had crossed this same market-place with her 
 
 48 
 
The Second Meeting 
 
 father, little fatigued, feeling light and gay, happy 
 to breathe the frosty fog, and loving the sad 
 dav;n itself, so sweet and enjoyable seemed 
 bare life. 
 
 The May night had long since fallen ; nearly 
 all the windows had closed with a grating of their 
 iron fittings, but Gaud remained at her place, 
 leaving hers open. The last passers-by, who 
 could distinguish the white cap in the darkness, 
 might say to themselves, "That's surely some 
 girl, dreaming of her sweetheart." It was true, 
 for she was dreaming of hers, with a wild desire 
 to weep ; her tiny white teeth bit her lips and 
 continually opened and pursed up the deep dim- 
 ple that outlined the under lip of her fresh, pure 
 mouth. Her eyes remained fixed on the dark- 
 ness, seeing nothing of tangible things. 
 
 But, after the ball, why had he not returned ? 
 What change had come over him ? Meeting 
 him by chance, he seemed to avoid her, turning 
 aside his look, which was always fleeting, by the 
 way. She had often debated this with Sylvestre, 
 who could not understand either. 
 
 " But still, he's the lad for you to marry, 
 Gaud," said Sylvestre, "if your father allowed 
 ye. In the whole country round you'd not find 
 his like. First, let me tell 'ee, he's a rare good 
 
 49 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 one, though he mayn't look it. He seldom gets 
 tipsy. He sometimes is stubborn, but is very 
 pliable for all that. No, I can't tell 'ee how 
 good he is ! And such an A.B. seaman ! Every 
 new fishing season the skippers regularly fight to 
 have him." 
 
 She was quite sure of her father's permission, 
 for she never had been thwarted in any of her 
 whims. And it mattered little to her whether 
 Yann were rich or not. To begin with, a sailor 
 like him would need but a little money in ad- 
 vance to attend the classes of the coast navigation 
 school, and might shortly become a captain 
 whom all shipowners would gladly intrust with 
 their vessels. It also mattered little to her that 
 he was such a giant ; great strength may become 
 a defect in a woman, but in a man is not preju- 
 dicial to good looks. 
 
 Without seeming to care much, she had ques* 
 tioned the girls of the country round about, who 
 knew all the love stories going ; but he had no 
 recognized engagement with any one, he paid no 
 more attention to one than another, but roved 
 from right to left, to L^zardrieux as well as to 
 Paimpol, to all the beauties who cared to receive 
 his addresses. 
 
 One Sunday evening, very late, she had seen 
 50 
 
The Second Meeting 
 
 him pass under her windows, in company with 
 one Jeannie Caroff, whom he tucked under his 
 wing very closely ; she was pretty, certainly, but 
 had a very bad reputation. This had pained 
 Gaud very much indeed. She had been told 
 that he was very quick-tempered: one night 
 being rather tipsy in a tavern of Paimpol, where 
 the Icelanders held their revels, he had thrown a 
 great marble table through a door that they would 
 not open to him. But she forgave him all that ; 
 we all know what sailors are sometimes when the 
 fit takes them. But if his heart were good, why 
 had he sought one out who never had thought 
 of him, to leave her afterward ; what reason had 
 he had to look at her for a whole evening with 
 his fair, open smile, and to use his softest, ten- 
 derest voice to speak to her of his affairs as to a 
 betrothed? Now, it was impossible for her to 
 become attached to another, or to change. In 
 this same country, when quite a child, she was 
 used to being scolded when naughty and called 
 more stubborn than any other child in her ideas ; 
 and she had not altered. Fine lady as she was 
 now, rather serious and proud in her ways, none 
 had refashioned her, and she remained always the 
 same. 
 
 After this ball, the past winter had been spent 
 51 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 in waiting to see him again, but he had not even 
 come to say good-bye before his departure for 
 Iceland. Since he was no longer by, nothing 
 else existed in her eyes ; slowly time seemed to 
 drag until the return in autumn, when she had 
 made up her mind to put an end to her doubts. 
 
 The town-hall clock struck eleven, with that 
 peculiar resonance that bells have during the 
 quiet spring nights. At Paimpol eleven o'clock 
 is very late ; so Gaud closed her window and lit 
 her lamp, to go to bed. 
 
 Perhaps it was only shyness in Yann, after 
 all, or was it because, being proud also, he was 
 afraid of a refusal, as she was so rich ? She wanted 
 to ask him this herself straightforwardly, but 
 Sylvestre thought that it would not be the right 
 thing, and it would not look well for her to ap- 
 pear so bold. In Paimpol already her manners 
 and dress were sufficiently criticised. 
 
 She undressed slowly as if in a dream ; first 
 her muslin cap, then her town-cut dress, which 
 ^e threw carelessly on a chair. The little lamp, 
 alone to bum at this late hour, bathed her shoul- 
 ders and bosom in its mysterious light, her per- 
 fect form, which no eye ever had contemplated, 
 and never could contemplate if Yann did not 
 
 marry her. She knew her face was beautiful, but 
 
 52 
 
The Second Meeting 
 
 she was unconscious of the beauty of her figure. 
 In this remote land, among daughters of fishers, 
 beauty of shape is almost part of the race ; it is 
 scarcely ever noticed, and even the least respect- 
 able women are ashamed to parade it. 
 
 Gaud began to unbraid her tresses, coiled in 
 the shape of a snail-shell and rolled round her 
 ears, and two plaits fell upon her shoulders like 
 weighty serpents. She drew them up into a 
 crown on the top of her head — this was comfort- 
 able for sleeping — so that, by reason of her 
 straight profile, she looked like a Roman vestal. 
 
 She still held up her arms, and biting her lip, 
 she slowly ran her fingers through the golden 
 mass, like a child playing with a toy, while think- 
 ing of something else ; and again letting it fall, 
 she quickly un plaited it to spread it out ; soon 
 she was covered with her own locks, which fell 
 to her knees, looking like some Druidess. 
 
 And sleep having come, notwithstanding love 
 and an impulse to weep, she threw herself roughly 
 in her bed, hiding her face in the silken masses 
 floating round her outspread like a veil. 
 
 In her hut in Ploubazlanec, Granny Moan, 
 who was on the other and darker side of her life, 
 had also fallen to sleep — the frozen sleep of old 
 age — dreaming of her grandson and of death. 
 
 53 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 And at this same hour, on board the Marie ^ 
 on the Northern Sea, which was very heavy on 
 this particular evening, Yann and Sylvestre — the 
 two longed-for rovers — sang ditties to one an- 
 other, and went on gaily with their fishing in the 
 everlasting daylight. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 NEWS FROM HOME 
 
 About a month later, around Iceland, the 
 weather was of that rare kind that the sailors call 
 a dead calm ; in other words, in the air nothing 
 moved, as if all the breezes were exhausted and 
 their task done. 
 
 The sky was covered with a white veil, which 
 darkened towards its lower border near the ho- 
 rizon, and gradually passed into dull gray leaden 
 tints ; over this the still waters threw a pale light, 
 which fatigued the eyes and chilled the gazer 
 through and through. All at once, liquid designs 
 played over the surface, such light evanescent 
 rings as one forms by breathing on a mirror. 
 The sheen of the waters seemed covered with a 
 net of faint patterns, which intermingled and re- 
 formed, rapidly disappearing. Everlasting night 
 
 54 
 
News from Home 
 
 or everlasting day, one could scarcely say what 
 it was; the sun, which pointed to no special 
 hour, remained fixed, as if presiding over the 
 fading glory of dead things ; it appeared but as a 
 mere ring, being almost without substance, and 
 magnified enormously by a shifting halo. 
 
 Yann and Sylvestre, leaning against one an- 
 other, sang " Jean-Frangois de Nantes," the song 
 without an end ; amused by its very monotony, 
 looking at one another from the corner of their 
 eyes as if laughing at the childish fun, with which 
 they began the verses over and over again, trying 
 to put fresh spirit into them each time. Their 
 cheeks were rosy under the sharp freshness of the 
 morning : the pure air they breathed was strength- 
 ening, and they inhaled it deep down in their 
 chests, the very fountain of all vigorous existence. 
 And yet, around them, was a semblance of non- 
 existence, of a world either finished or not yet 
 created; the light itself had no warmth; al) 
 things seemed without motion, and as if chilled 
 for eternity under the great ghostly eye that rep- 
 resented the sun. 
 
 The Marie projected over the sea a shadow 
 
 long and black as night, or rather appearing deep 
 
 e,Teen in the midst of the polished surface, which 
 
 " ^'^ted all the purity of the heavens ; in this 
 
 55 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 shadowed part, which had no glitter, could be 
 plainly distinguished through the transparency, 
 myriads upon myriads of fish, all alike, gliding 
 slowly in the same direction, as if bent towards 
 the goal of their perpetual travels. They were 
 cod, performing their evolutions all as parts of a 
 single body, stretched full length in the same 
 direction, exactly parallel, offering the effect of 
 gray streaks, unceasingly agitated by a quick 
 motion that gave a look of fluidity to the mass 
 of dumb lives. Sometimes, with a sudden quick 
 movement of the tail, all turned round at the 
 same time, showing the sheen of their silvered 
 sides; and the same movement was repeated 
 throughout the entire shoal by slow undulations, 
 as if a thousand metal blades had each thrown a 
 tiny flash of lightning from under the surface. 
 
 The sun, already very low, lowered further ; 
 so night had decidedly come. As the great 
 ball of flame descended into the leaden-coloured 
 zones that surrounded the sea, it grew yellow, 
 and its outer rim became more clear and solid. 
 Now it could be looked straight at, as if it were 
 but the moon. Yet it still gave out light and 
 looked quite near in the immensity ; it seemed 
 that by going in a ship, only so far as the edg 
 of the horizon, one might collide with ^' 
 
 56 
 
News from Home 
 
 mournful globe, floating in the air just a few 
 yards above the water. 
 
 Fishing was going on well ; looking into the 
 calm water, one could see exactly what took 
 place ; how the cod came to bite, with a greedy 
 spring ; then, feeling themselves hooked, wrig- 
 gled about, as if to hook themselves still firmer. 
 And every moment, with rapid action, the fish- 
 ermen hauled in their lines, hand overhand, 
 throwing the fish to the man who was to clean 
 them and flatten them out. 
 
 The Paimpol fleet was scattered over the 
 quiet mirror, animating the desert. Here and 
 there appeared distant sails, unfurled for mere 
 form's sake, considering there was no breeze. 
 They were like clear white outlines upon the 
 greys of the horizon. In this dead calm, fishing 
 off Iceland seemed so easy and tranquil a trade 
 that ladies* yachting was no name for it. 
 
 " Jean Francois de Nantes ; 
 Jean Fran9ois, 
 Jean Frangois ! " 
 
 So they sang, like a couple of children. 
 
 Yann little troubled whether or no he was 
 handsome and good-looking. He was boyish 
 only with Sylvestre, it is true, and sang and 
 joked with no other ; on the contrary, he was 
 
 57 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 rather distant with the others and proud and dis- 
 dainful — very willing though, when his help was 
 required, and always kind and obliging when not 
 irritated. 
 
 So the twain went on singing their song, 
 with two others, a few steps off, singing another, 
 a dirge — a. clashing of sleepiness, health, and 
 vague melancholy. But they did not feel dull, 
 and the hours flew by. 
 
 Down in the cabin a fire still smouldered in 
 the iron range, and the hatch was kept shut, so 
 as to give the appearance of night there for those 
 who needed sleep. They required but little air 
 to sleep ; indeed, less robust fellows, brought up 
 in towns, would have wanted more. They used 
 to go to bed after the watch at irregular times, 
 just when they felt inclined, hours counting for 
 little in this never-fading light. And they always 
 slept soundly and peacefully without restlessness 
 or bad dreams. 
 
 •• Jean Frangois de Nantes ; 
 Jean Francois, 
 Jean Francois ! " 
 
 They looked attentively at some almost im- 
 perceptible object, far off on the horizon, some 
 faint smoke rising from the waters like a tiny 
 
 jot of another gray tint slightly darker than the 
 
 58 
 
News from Home 
 
 sky's. Their eyes were used to plumbing depths, 
 and they had seen it. 
 
 "A sail, a sail, thereaway !" 
 
 ** I have an idea," said the skipper, staring at- 
 tentively, ** that it's a government cruiser coming 
 on her inspection-round." 
 
 This faint smoke brought news of home to 
 the sailors, and among others, a letter we wot 
 of, from an old grandam, written by the hand of 
 a beautiful girl. Slowly the steamer approached 
 till they perceived her black hull Yes, it was 
 the cruiser, making the inspection in these west- 
 em fjords. 
 
 At the same time, a slight breeze sprang up, 
 fresher yet to inhale, and began to tarnish the 
 surface of the still waters in patches; it traced 
 designs in a bluish green tint over the shining 
 mirror, and scattering in trails, these fanned out 
 or branched off like a coral tree ; all very rapidly 
 with a low murmur ; it was like a signal of awak- 
 ening foretelling the end of this intense torpor. 
 The sky, its veil being rent asunder, grew clear ; 
 the vapours fell down on the horizon, massing in 
 heaps like slate-coloured wadding, as if to form a 
 soft bank to the sea. The two ever-during mir- 
 rors between which the fishermen lived, the one 
 on high and the one beneath, recovered their 
 
 59 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 deep lucidity, as if the mists tarnishing them had 
 been brushed away. 
 
 The weather was changing in a rapid way 
 that foretold no good. Smacks began to arrive 
 from all points of the immense plane ; first, all 
 the French smacks in the vicinity, from Brittany, 
 Normandy, Boulogne, or Dunkirk. Like birds 
 flocking to a call, they assembled round the 
 cruiser ; from the apparently empty corneis of 
 the horizon, others appeared on every side ; their 
 tiny gray wings were seen till they peopled the 
 pallid waste. 
 
 No longer slowly drifting, for they had 
 spread out their sails to the new and cool breeze, 
 and cracked on all to approach. 
 
 Far-off Iceland also reappeared, as if she 
 would fain come near them also ; showing her 
 great mountains of bare stones more distinctly 
 than ever. 
 
 And there arose a new Iceland of similar 
 colour, which little by little took a more definite 
 form, and none the less was purely illusive, its 
 gigantic mountains merely a condensation of 
 mists. The sun, sinking low, seemed incapable 
 of ever rising again over all things, though glow- 
 ing through this phantom island so tangibly that 
 
 it seemed placed in front of it Incompre- 
 
 60 
 
News from Home 
 
 hensible sight ! no longer was it surrounded by 
 a halo, but its disc had become firmly spread, 
 rather like some faded yellow planet slowly de- 
 caying and suddenly checked there in the heart 
 of chaos. 
 
 The cruiser, which had stopped, was fully 
 surrounded by the fleet of Icelanders. From 
 all boats were lowered, like so many nut-shell% 
 and conveyed their strong, long-bearded men, in 
 barbaric-looking dresses, to the steamer. 
 
 Like children, all had something to beg for ; 
 remedies for petty ailments, materials for repairs, 
 change of diet, and home letters. Others came, 
 sent by their captains, to be clapped in irons, to 
 expiate some fault ; as they had all been in the 
 navy, they took this as a matter of course. 
 When the narrow deck of the cruiser was 
 blocked-up by four or five of these hulking fel- 
 lows, stretched out with the bilboes round their 
 feet, the old sailor who had just chained them up 
 called out to them, " Roll o* one side, my lads, to 
 let us work, d'ye hear ? " which they obediently 
 did with a grin. 
 
 There were a great many letters this time for 
 
 the Iceland fleet. Among the rest, two for " La 
 
 Marie, Captain Guermeur " ; one addressed to 
 
 *' Monsieur Gaos, Yann," the other to ** Monsieur 
 
 6i 
 
On the Icy Sea 
 
 Moan, Sylvestre." The latter had come by way 
 of Rykavyk, where the cruiser had taken it on. 
 
 The purser, diving into his post-bags of sail- 
 cloth, distributed them all round, often finding it 
 hard to read the addresses, which were not 
 always written very skilfully, while the captain 
 kept on saying : " Look alive there, look alive ! 
 the barometer is falling." 
 
 He was rather anxious to see all the tiny 
 yawls afloat, and so many vessels assembled in 
 that dangerous region. 
 
 Yann and Sylvestre used to read their letters 
 together. This time they read them by the light 
 of the midnight sun, shining above the horizon, 
 still like a dead luminary. Sitting together, a 
 little to one side, in a retired nook of the deck, 
 their arms about each other's shoulders, they 
 very slowly read, as if to enjoy more thoroughly 
 the news sent them from home. 
 
 In Yann's letter Sylvestre got news of Marie 
 Gaos, his little sweetheart ; in Sylvestre's, Yann 
 read all Granny Moan's funny stories, for she 
 had not her like for amusing the absent ones you 
 will remember ; and the last paragraph concern- 
 ing him came up : the ** word of greeting to 
 young Gaos." 
 
 When the letters were got through, Sylvestre 
 62 
 
News from Home 
 
 timidly showed his to his big friend, to try and 
 make him admire the writing of it. 
 
 " Look, is it not pretty writing, Yann ?" 
 
 But Yann, who knew very well whose hand 
 had traced it, turned aside, shrugging his shoul- 
 ders, as much as to say that he was worried too 
 often about this Gaud girl. 
 
 So Sylvestre carefully folded up the poor, re- 
 jected paper, put it into its envelope and all in 
 his jersey, next his breast, saying to himself 
 sadly : " For sure, they'll never marry. But 
 what on earth can he have to say against her?" 
 
 Midnight was struck on the cruiser*s bell. 
 And yet our couple remained sitting there, think- 
 ing of home, the absent ones, a thousand things 
 in reverie. At this same moment the everlasting 
 sun, which had dipped its lower edge into the 
 waters, began slowly to reascend, and lo ! this 
 was morning. 
 
 63 
 
PART II 
 IN THE BRETON LAND 
 
'^ 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 THE PLAYTHING OF THE STORM 
 
 The Northern sun had taken another aspect 
 and changed its colour, opening the new day by a 
 sinister mom. Completely free from its veil, it 
 gave forth its grand rays, crossing the sky in fit- 
 ful flashes, foretelling nasty weather. During the 
 past few days it had been too fine to last. The 
 winds blew upon that swarm of boats, as if to 
 clear the sea of them ; and they began to disperse 
 and flee, like an army put to rout, before the 
 warning written in the air, beyond possibility to 
 misread. Harder and harder it blew, making 
 men and ships quake alike. 
 
 And the still tiny waves began to run one 
 after another and to melt together ; at first they 
 were frosted over with white foam spread out in 
 patches ; and then, with a whizzing sound, arose 
 smoke as though they burned and scorched, and 
 the whistling grew louder every moment. Fish- 
 catching was no longer thought of ; it was their 
 
 wprk on deck. The fishing lines had been drawn 
 
 67 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 in, and all hurried to make sail and some to seek 
 for shelter in the fjords, while yet others pre- 
 ferred to round the southern point of Iceland, 
 finding it safer to stand for the open sea, with 
 the free space about them, and run before the 
 stern wind. They could still see each other a 
 while : here and there, above the trough of the 
 sea, sails wagged as poor wearied birds fleeing; 
 the masts tipped, but ever and anon righted, like 
 the weighted pith figures that similarly resume 
 *ian erect attitude when released after being blown 
 down. 
 
 The illimitable cloudy roof, erstwhile com- 
 pacted towards the western horizon, in an island 
 form, began to break up on high and send its 
 fragments over the surface. It seemed inde- 
 structible, for vainly did the winds stretch it, pull 
 and toss it asunder, continually tearing away dark 
 strips, which they waved over the pale yellow 
 sky, gradually becoming intensely and icily livid. 
 Ever more strongly grew the wind that threw all 
 things in turmoil. 
 
 The cruiser had departed for shelter at Ice- 
 ,land ; some fishers alone remained upon the 
 seething sea, which now took an ill-boding look 
 and a dreadful colour. All hastily made prepara- 
 tions for bad weather. Between one and an- 
 
 68 
 
The Plaything of the Storm 
 
 other the distance grew greater, till some were 
 lost sight of. 
 
 The waves, curling up in scrolls, continued 
 to run after each other, to reassemble and climb 
 on one another, and between them the hollows 
 deepened. 
 
 In a few hours, everything was belaboured 
 and overthrown in these regions that had been 
 so calm the day before, and instead of the past 
 silence, the uproar was deafening. The present 
 agitation was a dissolving view, unconscientious 
 and useless, and quickly accomplished. What 
 was the object of it all? What a mystery of 
 blind destruction it was ! 
 
 The clouds continued to stream out on high, 
 out of the west continually, racing and darkening 
 all. A few yellow clefts remained, through which 
 the sun shot its rays in volleys. And the now 
 greenish water was striped more thickly with 
 snowy froth. 
 
 By midday the Marie was made completely 
 snug for dirty weather; her hatches battened 
 down, and her sails storm-reefed ; she bounded 
 lightly and elastic ; for all the horrid confusion, 
 she seemed to be playing like the porpoises, also 
 amused in storms. With her foresail taken in, 
 she simply scudded before the wind. 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 It had become quite dark overhead, where 
 stretched the heavily crushing vault. Studded 
 with shapeless gloomy spots, it appeared a set 
 dome, unless a steadier gaze ascertained that 
 everything was in the full rush of motion ; end- 
 less gray veils were drawn along, unceasingly 
 followed by others, from the profundities of the 
 sky-line — draperies of darkness, pulled from a 
 never-ending roll. 
 
 The Marie fled faster and faster before the 
 wind ; and time fled also — before some invisible 
 and mysterious power. The gale, the sea, the 
 Marie, and the clouds were all lashed into one 
 great madness of hasty flight towards the same 
 point. The fastest of all was the wind ; then 
 the huge seething billows, heavier and slower, 
 toiling after ; and, lastly, the smack, dragged into 
 the general whirl. The waves tracked her down 
 with their white crests, tumbling onward in con- 
 tinual motion, and she — though always being 
 caught up to and outrun — still managed to elude 
 them by means of the eddying waters she spurned 
 in her wake, upon which they vented their fury. 
 In this similitude of flight the sensation particu- 
 larly experienced was of buoyancy, the delight 
 of being carried along without effort or trouble, 
 in a springy sort of a way. The Marie mounted 
 
 70 
 
The Plaything of the Storm 
 
 over the waves without any shaking, as if the 
 wind had lifted her clean up ; and her subsequent 
 descent was a slide. She almost slid backward, 
 though, at times, the mountains lowering before 
 her as if continuing to run, and then she suddenly 
 found herself dropped into one of the measure- 
 less hollows that evaded her also ; without injury 
 she sounded its horrible depths, amid a loud 
 splashing of water, which did not even sprinkle 
 her decks, but was blown on and on like every- 
 thing else, evaporating in finer and finer spray 
 until it was thinned away to nothing. In the 
 trough it was darker, and when each wave had 
 passed the men looked behind them to see if the 
 next to appear were higher ; it came upon them 
 with furious contortions, and curling crests, over 
 its transparent emerald body, seeming to shriek : 
 "Only let me catch you, and I'll swallow you 
 whole!" 
 
 But this never came to pass, for, as a feather, 
 the billows softly bore them up and then down 
 fts gently ; they felt it pass under them, with all 
 its boiling surf and thunderous roar. And so on 
 continually, but the sea getting heavier and heav- 
 ier. One after another rushed the waves, more 
 and more gigantic, like a long chain of mountains, 
 with yawning valleys. And the madness of all 
 
 v^L- 20 71 Romances 6 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 this movement, under the ever-darkening sky, 
 accelerated the height of the intolerable clamour. 
 
 Yann and Sylvestre stood at the helm, still 
 singing ** Jean Frangois de Nantes" ; intoxicated 
 with the quiver of speed, they sang out loudly, 
 laughing at their inability to hear themselves in 
 this prodigious wrath of the wind. 
 
 *' I say, lads, does it smell musty up here 
 too ? " called out Guermeur to them, passing his 
 bearded face up through the half-open hatchway, 
 like Jack-in-the-box. 
 
 Oh, no ! it certainly did not smell musty on 
 deck. They were not at all frightened, being 
 quite conscious of what man can cope with, hav- 
 ing faith in the strength of their barkey and their 
 arms. And they furthermore relied upon the 
 protection of that china Virgin, which had voy- 
 aged forty years to Iceland, and so often had 
 danced the dance of this day, smiling perpetually 
 between her branches of artificial flowers. 
 
 Generally speaking, they could not see far 
 
 around them ; a few hundred yards off, all seemed 
 
 entombed in the fearfully big billows, with their 
 
 frothing crests shutting out the view. They felt 
 
 as if in an enclosure, continually altering shape ; 
 
 and, besides, all things seemed drowned in the 
 
 aqueous smoke, which fled before them like a 
 
 72 
 
The Plaything of the Storm 
 
 cloud with the greatest rapidity over the heaving 
 surface. But from time to time a gleam of sun- 
 light pierced through the north-west sky, through 
 which a squall threatened ; a shuddering light 
 would appear from above, a rather spun-out dim- 
 ness, making the dome of the heavens denser 
 than before, and feebly lighting up the surge. 
 This new light was sad to behold; far-off 
 glimpses as they were, that gave too strong an 
 understanding that the same chaos and the same 
 fury lay on all sides, even far, far behind the 
 seemingly void horizon ; there was no limit to 
 its expanse of storm, and they stood alone in 
 its midst ! 
 
 A tremendous tumult arose all about, like 
 the prelude of an apocalypse, spreading the terror 
 of the ultimate end of the earth. And amidst it 
 thousands of voices could be heard above, shriek- 
 ing, bellowing, calling, as from a great distance. 
 It was only the wind, the great motive breath of 
 all this disorder, the voice of the invisible power 
 ruling all. Then came other voices, nearer and 
 less indefinite, threatening destruction, and mak- 
 ing the water shudder and hiss as if on burning 
 coals ; the disturbance increased in terror. 
 
 Notwithstanding their flight, the sea began 
 to gain on them, to "bury them up," as they 
 
 73 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 phrased it : first the spray fell down on them 
 from behind, and masses of water thrown with 
 such violence as to break everything in their 
 course. The waves were ever increasing, and the 
 tempest tore off their ridges and hurled them, 
 too, upon the poop, like a demon's game of 
 snowballing, till dashed to atoms on the bul- 
 warks. Heavier masses fell on the planks with 
 a hammering sound, till the Marie shivered 
 throughout, as if in pain. Nothing could be 
 distinguished over the side, because of the screen 
 of creamy foam ; and when the winds soughed 
 more loudly, this foam formed into whirling 
 spouts, like the dust of the way in summer time. 
 At length a heavy rain fell crossways, and soon 
 straight up and down, and how all these elements 
 of destruction yelled together, clashed and inter- 
 locked, no tongue can tell. 
 
 Yann and Sylvestre stuck staunchly to the 
 helm, covered with their waterproofs, hard and 
 shiny as sharkskin ; they had firmly secured them 
 at the throat by tarred strings, and likewise at 
 wrists and ankles to prevent the water from run- 
 ning in, and the rain only poured oif them ; 
 when it fell too heavily, they arched their 
 backs, and held all the more stoutly, not to be 
 thrown over the board. Their cheeks burned, 
 
 74 
 
The Plaything of the Storm 
 
 and every minute their breath was beaten out or 
 stopped. 
 
 After each sea was shipped and rushed over, 
 they exchanged glances, grinning at the crust of 
 salt settled in their beards. 
 
 In the long run though, this became tire- 
 some, an unceasing fury, which always promised 
 a worse visitation. The fury of men and beasts 
 soon falls and dies away ; but the fury of lifeless 
 things, without cause or object, is as mysterious 
 as life and death, and has to be borne for very 
 
 *0^^g« «< Jean Francois de Nantes ; 
 
 Jean Frangois, 
 Jean Frangois ! " 
 
 Through their pale lips still came the refrain of 
 the old song, but as from' a speaking automaton, 
 unconsciously taken up from time to time. The 
 excess of motion and uproar had made them 
 dumb, and despite their youth their smiles were 
 insincere, and their teeth chattered with cold; 
 their eyes, half-closed under their raw, throbbing 
 eyelids, remained glazed in terror. Lashed to 
 the helm, like marble caryatides, they only moved 
 their numbed blue hands, almost without think- 
 ing, by sheer muscular habit. With their hair 
 streaming and mouths contracted, they had be- 
 come changed, all the primitive wildness in man 
 
 75 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 appearing again. They could not see one an- 
 other truly, but still were aware of being com- 
 panioned. In the instants of greatest danger, 
 each time that a fresh mountain of water rose 
 behind them, came to overtower them, and crash 
 horribly against their boat, one of their hands 
 would move as if involuntarily, to form the sign 
 of the cross. They no more thought of Gaud 
 than of any other woman, or any marrying. The 
 travail was lasting too long, and they had no 
 thoughts left. The intoxication of noise, cold, 
 and fatigue drowned all in their brain. They 
 were merely two pillars of stiffened human flesh, 
 held up by the helm ; two strong beasts, cower- 
 ing, but determined they would not be over- 
 whelmed. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 A PARDONABLE RUSH 
 
 In Brittany, towards the end of September, 
 on an already chilly day, Gaud was walking alone 
 across the common of Ploubazlanec, in the direc- 
 tion of Pors-Even. 
 
 The Icelanders had returned a month back, 
 except two, which had perished in that June gale. 
 
 76 
 
A Pardonable Ruse 
 
 But the Marie had held her own, and Yann and 
 all her crew were peacefully at home. 
 
 Gaud felt very troubled at the idea of going 
 to Yann's house. She had seen him once since 
 the return from Iceland, when they had all gone 
 together to see poor little Sylvestre off to the 
 navy. They accompanied him to the coaching- 
 house, he blubbering a little and his grandmother 
 weeping, and he had started to join the fleet at 
 Brest. 
 
 Yann, who had come also to bid good-bye to 
 his little friend, had feigned to look aside when 
 Gaud looked at him, and as there were many 
 people round the coach to see the other sailors 
 off, and parents assembled to say good-bye, the 
 pair had not a chance to speak. So, at last, she 
 had formed a strong resolution, and rather tim- 
 idly wended her way towards the Gaos's home. 
 
 Her father had formerly had mutual interests 
 with Yann's father (complicated business, which, 
 with peasants and fishers alike, seems to be end- 
 less), and owed him a hundred francs for the 
 sale of a boat, which had just taken place in a 
 raffle. 
 
 " You ought to let me carry the money to 
 him, father," she had said. ** I shall be pleased 
 to see Marie Gaos. I never have been so far in 
 
 n 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 Plpubazlanec, either, and I shall enjoy the long 
 walk." 
 
 To speak the truth, she was curiously anxious 
 to know Yann's family, which she might some 
 day enter ; and she also wanted to see the house 
 and village. 
 
 In one of their last chats, before his departure, 
 Sylvestre had explained to her, in his own way, 
 his friend's shyness. 
 
 "D'ye see, Gaud, he's like this, he won't 
 marry anybody, that's his idea ; he only loves the 
 sea, and one day even, in fun, he said he had 
 promised to be wedded to it." 
 
 Whereupon, she forgave him all his peculiar 
 ways, and remembered only his beautiful open 
 smile on the night of the ball, and she hoped on 
 and on. 
 
 If she were to meet him in his home, of 
 course she would say nothing ; she had no inten- 
 tion of being so bold. But if he saw her closely 
 again, perhaps he might speak. 
 
 78 
 
Of Sinister Portent 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 OF SINISTER PORTENT 
 
 She had been walking for the last hour, lightly 
 yet oppressed, inhaling the healthy open breeze 
 whistling up the roads to where they crossed and 
 Calvaires were erected, ghastly highway orna- 
 ments of our Saviour on His cross, to which 
 Bretons are given. 
 
 From time to time she passed through small 
 fishing villages, which are beaten about by the 
 winds the whole year through till of the colour 
 of the rocks. In one of these hamlets, where 
 the path narrows suddenly between dark walls, 
 and between the whitewashed roofs, high and 
 pointed like Celtic huts, a tavern sign-board made 
 her smile. It was " The Chinese Cider Cellars." 
 On it were painted two grotesque figures, dressed 
 in green and pink robes, with pigtails, drinking 
 cider. No doubt the whim of some old sailor 
 who had been in China. She saw all on her way ; 
 people who are greatly engrossed in the object 
 of a journey always find more amusement than 
 others in its thousand details. 
 
 The tiny village was far behind her now, and 
 as she advanced in this last promontory of the 
 
 79 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 Breton land, the trees around her became more 
 scarce, and the country more mournful. 
 
 The ground was undulating and rocky, and 
 from all the heights the open sea could be seen. 
 No more trees now ; nothing but the shorn heaths 
 with their green reeds, and here and there the 
 consecrated crosses rose, their outstretched arms 
 outlined against the sky, giving the whole country 
 the aspect of a cemetery. 
 
 At one of the cross-ways, guarded by a colossal 
 image of Christ, she hesitated between two roads 
 running among thorny slopes. 
 
 A child happening to pass, came to her rescue : 
 ** Good-day, Mademoiselle Gaud ! " 
 
 It was one of the little Gaoses, one of Yann*s 
 wee sisters. Gaud kissed her and asked her if 
 her parents were at home. 
 
 "Father and mother are, yes. But brother 
 Yann," said the little one, without intent, of 
 course, " has gone to Loguivy ; but I don't think 
 he'll be very late home again." 
 
 So he was not there? Again destiny was 
 between them, everywhere and always. She 
 thought at first of putting off her visit to an- 
 other day. But the little lass who had met her 
 might mention the fact. What would they 
 
 think at Pors-Even? So she decided to go 
 
 80 
 
of Sinister Portent 
 
 on, but loitering so as to give Yann time to re- 
 turn. 
 
 As she neared his village, in this lost country, 
 all things seemed rougher and more desolate. Sea 
 breezes that made men stronger, made shorter 
 and more stubbly plants. Seaweeds of all kinds 
 were scattered over the paths, leaves from growths 
 in another element, proving the existence of a 
 neighbouring world ; their briny odour mingled 
 with the perfume of the heather. 
 
 Now and again Gaud met passers-by, sea-folk, 
 who could be seen a long way off, over the bare 
 country, outlined and magnified against the high 
 sea-line. Pilots or fishers, seeming to watch the 
 great sea, in passing her wished her good-day. 
 Broad sun-burnt faces were theirs, manly and de- 
 termined under their easy caps. 
 
 Time did not go quickly enough, and she 
 really did not know what to do to lengthen the 
 way ; these people seemed surprised at seeing her 
 walk so slowly. ^ 
 
 What could Yann be doing a^^oguivy? 
 Courting the girls, perhaps. ^ 
 
 Ah ! if she only had known how little he 
 troubled his head about them ! He had simply 
 gone to Loguivy to give an order to a basket- 
 maker, who was the only one in the country 
 
 8i 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 knowing how to weave lobster pots. His mind 
 was very free from love just now. 
 
 She passed a chapel, at such a height it could 
 be seen remotely. It was a little gray old chapel 
 in the midst of the barren. A clump of trees, 
 gray too, and almost leafless, seemed like hair to 
 it, pushed by some invisible hand all on one side. 
 
 It was that same hand that ha4 wrecked tlie 
 fishers* boats, the eternal hand of the western 
 winds, and had twisted all the branches of the 
 coast trees in the direction of the waves and of 
 the off-sea breezes. The old trees had grown 
 awry and dishevelled, bending their backs under 
 the time-honoured strength of that hand. 
 
 Gaud was almost at the end of her walk, as 
 the chapel in sight was that of Pors-Even ; so 
 she stopped there to win a little more time. 
 
 A petty mouldering wall ran round an enclos- 
 ure containing tombstones. Everthing was of the 
 same colour, chapel, trees, and graves ; the whole 
 spot seemed faded and eaten into by the sea-wind ; 
 the stones, the knotty branches, and the granite 
 saints, placed in the wall niches, were covered by 
 the same grayish lichen, splashed pale yellow. 
 
 On one of the wooden crosses this name was 
 written in large letters : 
 
 " Gaos.— Gaos, Joel, 8o years." 
 82 
 
of Sinister Portent 
 
 Yes, this was the old grandfather — she knew 
 that — for the sea had not wanted this old sailor. 
 And many of Yann's relatives, besides, slept 
 here; it was only natural, and she might have 
 expected it; nevertheless, the name upon the 
 tomb had made a sad impression. 
 
 To waste a little more time, she entered to 
 say a prayer under the old cramped porch, worn 
 away and daubed over with whitewash. But she 
 stopped again with a sharp pain at her heart. 
 *'Gaos" — again that name, engraved upon one 
 of the slabs erected in memory of those who die 
 at sea. 
 
 She read this inscription : 
 
 *• To the Memory of 
 
 Gaos, JEAN-LOUIS, 
 
 Aged 24 years ; seaman on board the Marguerite, 
 
 Disappeared oif Iceland, August 3d, 1877. 
 
 May he rest in peace / " 
 
 Iceland — always Iceland ! All over the porch 
 were wooden slabs bearing the names of dead 
 sailors. It was the place reserved for the 
 shipwrecked of Pors-Even. Filled with a 
 dark foreboding she was sorry to have gone 
 there. 
 
 In Paimpol church she had seen many such 
 inscriptions ; but in this village the empty tomb 
 
 83 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 of the Iceland fishers seemed more sad because 
 so lone and humble. On each side of the door- 
 way was a granite seat for the widows and moth- 
 ers ; and this shady spot, irregularly shaped like 
 a grotto, was guarded by an old image of the 
 Virgin, coloured red, with large, staring eyes, 
 looking most like Cybele — the first goddess of 
 the earth. 
 
 "Gaos!" Again! 
 
 " To the Memory of 
 
 Gaos, Francois, 
 
 Husband of Anne-Marie le Coaster, 
 
 Captain on board the Paimpolais, 
 
 Lost off Iceland, between the ist and 3d of May, 1877, 
 
 With the twenty-three men of his crew. 
 
 May they rest in peace / " 
 
 And, lower down, were two cross-bones under 
 a black skull with green eyes, a simple but ghastly 
 emblem, reminding one of all the barbarism of a 
 bygone age. 
 
 " Gaos, Gaos ! " The name was everywhere. 
 As she read, thrills of sweet tenderness came over 
 her for this Yann of her choice, damped by a 
 feeling of hopelessness. Nay, he never would 
 be hers ! How could she tear him from the sea 
 where so many other Gaoses had gone down, an- 
 cestors and brothers, who must have loved the 
 
 84 
 
Of Sinister Portent 
 
 sea like he ! She entered the chapel. It was 
 almost dark, badly lit by low windows with heavy 
 frames. And there, her heart full of tears that 
 would better have fallen, she knelt to pray before 
 the colossal saints, surrounded by common flow- 
 ers, touching the vaulted roof with their massive 
 heads. Outside, the rising wind began to sob as 
 if it brought the death-gasps of the drowned men 
 back to their Fatherland. 
 
 Night drew near ; she rose and went on her 
 way. After having asked in the village, she 
 found the home of the Gaos family, which was 
 built up against a high cliff. A dozen granite 
 steps led up to it. Trembling a little at the 
 thought that Yann might have returned, she 
 crossed the small garden where chrysanthemums 
 and veronicas grew. 
 
 When she was indoors, she explained she had 
 come to bring the money for the boat, and they 
 very politely asked her to sit down, to await the 
 father's return, as he was the one to sign the re- 
 ceipt for her. Amidst all, her eyes searched for 
 Yann — but did not see him. 
 
 They were very busy in the home. Already 
 they were cutting out the new waterproof cloth 
 on the clean white table, and getting it ready for 
 the approaching Iceland season. 
 
 85 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 ** You see, Mademoiselle Gaud, it's like this : 
 every man wants two new suits." 
 
 They explained to her how they set to work 
 to make them, and to render their seams water- 
 proof with tar, for they were for wet weather 
 wear. And while they worked. Gaud looked at- 
 tentively around the home of these Gaoses. 
 
 It was furnished after the traditional manner 
 of all Breton cottages ; an immense chimney- 
 place took up one whole end, and on the sides 
 of the walls the Breton beds, bunks, as on ship- 
 board, were placed one above another. But it 
 was not so sombre and sad as the cabins of other 
 peasants, which are generally half-hidden by the 
 wayside ; it was all fresh and clean, as the homes 
 of seamen usually are. Several little Gaoses were 
 there, girls and boys, all sisters and brothers of 
 Yann ; without counting two big ones, who were 
 already out at sea. And, besides, there was a 
 little fair girl, neat, but sad, unlike the others. 
 
 "We adopted her last year," explained the 
 
 mother ; ** we had enough children as it was, of 
 
 course, but what else could we do. Mademoiselle 
 
 Gaud, for her daddy belonged to the Maria-Dieu- 
 
 faime, lost last season off Iceland, as you know ; 
 
 so the neighbours divided the little ones between 
 
 them, and this one fell to our lot." 
 
 2.6 
 
of Sinister Portent 
 
 Hearing herself spoken of, the adopted child 
 hung her pretty head and smiled, hiding herself 
 behind little Laumec Gaos, her favourite. 
 
 There was a look of comfort all over the 
 place, and radiant health bloomed on all the chil- 
 dren's rosy cheeks. 
 
 They received Gaud very profusely, like a 
 great lady whose visit was an honour to the fam- 
 ily. She was taken upstairs, up a newly-built 
 wooden staircase, to see the room above, which 
 was the glory of the home. She remembered 
 the history of its construction ; it was after the 
 finding of a derelict vessel in the Channel, which 
 luck had befallen Yann*s father and his cousin 
 the pilot. 
 
 The room was very gay and pretty in its 
 whiteness ; there were two town beds in it, with 
 pink chintz curtains, and a large table in the 
 middle. Through the window the whole of 
 Paimpol could be seen, with the Icelanders at 
 anchor off shore, and the channel through which 
 they passed. 
 
 She did not dare question, but she would 
 have liked to have known where Yann slept ; 
 probably as a child he had slept downstairs in 
 one of the antique cupboard-beds. But perhaps 
 now he slept under those pink draperies. She 
 
 8; 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 would have loved to have known all the details 
 of his life, especially what he did in the long 
 winter evenings. 
 
 A heavy footstep on the stairs made her 
 tremble. But it was not Yann, though a man 
 much like him ; notwithstanding his white hair, 
 as tall and as straight. It was old father Gaos 
 returning from fishing. 
 
 After he had saluted her and asked her thf 
 object of her visit, he signed her receipt for her 
 which was rather a long operation, as his hand 
 was not very steady, he explained. 
 
 But he would not accept the hundred francs 
 as a final payment, but only as an instalment ; 
 he would speak to M. M^vel again about it 
 Whereupon Gaud, to whom money was nothing, 
 smiled imperceptibly ; she had fancied the busi- 
 ness was not quite terminated, and this just 
 suited her. 
 
 They made something like excuses for Yann*s 
 absence ; as if they found it more orthodox for 
 the whole family to assemble to receive her. Per- 
 haps the father had guessed, with the shrewdness 
 of an old salt, that his son was not indifferent to 
 this beautiful heiress ; for he rather insisted upon 
 talking about him. 
 
 " It's very queer," said he, ** the boy's never 
 88 
 
of Sinister Portent 
 
 so late out. He went over to Loguivy, Mad- 
 emoiselle Gaud, to buy some lobster baskets ; as 
 you know, lobster-catching is our main winter 
 fishery." 
 
 She dreamily lengthened out her call, al- 
 though conscious that it was too long already, 
 and feeling a tug at her heart at the idea that 
 she would not see him after all. 
 
 " A well-conducted young man like Yann — 
 what can he be doing ? Surely he's not at the 
 inn. We don't fear that for our lad. I don't 
 say that now and then, of a Sunday, with his 
 
 mates You know, Mademoiselle Gaud, what 
 
 them sailors are. Eh ! ye know, he's but a young 
 chap, and must have some liberty now and again. 
 But it's very rare with him to break out, for he's 
 a straight-goer ; we can say that." 
 
 vBut night was falling, and the work had been 
 folded up. The little ones on the benches around 
 drew closer to one another, saddened by the grey 
 dismal gloaming, and eyed Gaud hard, seeming 
 to say — 
 
 " Why doesn't she go now ? " 
 
 On the hearth, the flames burned redder in 
 the midst of the falling shadows. 
 
 " You ought to stay and have a bit o' supper 
 with us. Mademoiselle Gaud," 
 
 89 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 " Oh, no I I couldn^t think of it ! " The blood 
 rushed to her face at the idea of having remained 
 so late. She got up and took her leave. 
 
 Yann's father also rose to accompany her part 
 of the way, anyhow as far as a lonely nook where 
 the old trees make a dark lane. 
 
 As they walked along together, she felt a sud- 
 den sympathy of respect and tenderness towards 
 him ; she would have liked to have spoken as to 
 a father in the sudden gushes of feeling that came 
 over her ; but the words were stifled in her throat, 
 and she said not a word. 
 
 And so they went their way, in the cold even- 
 ing wind, full of the odour of the sea, passing here 
 and there, on the barren heath, some poor hovels, 
 where beach-combers dwelt and had already sealed 
 themselves up for the night ; dark and neglected 
 they looked under the weather-beaten roofs ; these 
 crosses, clumps of reeds, and boulders they left 
 behind. 
 
 What a great way off Pors-Even was, and 
 what a time she had remained ! 
 
 Now and then they met folks returning from 
 
 Paimpol or Loguivy; and as she watched the 
 
 shadows approach, each time she thought it was 
 
 Yann-; but it was easy to recognise him at a good 
 
 distance off, and so she was quickly undeceived. 
 
 90 
 
His Reluctance 
 
 Every moment her feet caught in the brown 
 trailing plants, tangled like hair, which were sea- 
 weeds littering the pathway. 
 
 At the Cross of Plouezoc'h she bade good- 
 bye to the old man, and begged him to return. 
 The lights of Paimpol were already in view, and 
 there was no more occasion to be afraid. 
 
 So hope was over for this time. Who could 
 tell her when she might see Yann again ? 
 
 An excuse to return to Pors-Even would 
 have been easy ; but it would really look too bad 
 to begin her quest all over again. She would 
 have to be braver and prouder than that. If only 
 her little confidant Sylvestre had been there, she 
 might have asked him to go and fetch Yann, so 
 that there could be some explanation. But he 
 was gone now, and for how many years ? 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 HIS RELUCTANCE 
 
 "Me get married ?" said Yann to his parents 
 that same evening. "Me get married? Good 
 heavens, why should I ? Shall I ever be as happy 
 as here with ye ? no troubles, no tiffs with any 
 one, and warm soup ready for me every night 
 
 91 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 when I come home from sea. Oh ! I quite un- 
 derstand that you mean the girl that came here 
 to-day, but what's such a rich girl got to do with 
 us ? Tisn't clear to my thinking. And it'll be 
 neither her, nor any other. It's all settled, I 
 won't marry — it ain't to my liking." 
 
 The two old Gaoses looked at one another 
 in silence, deeply disappointed, for, after having 
 talked it over together, they were pretty well 
 sure that this young lady would not refuse their 
 handsome Yann. But they did not try to argue, 
 knowing how useless that would be. The mother 
 lowered her head, and said no more ; she respected 
 the will of this son, her eldest bom, who was all 
 but the head of the family ; although he was al- 
 ways tender and gentle with her, more obedient 
 than a child in the petty things of life, he long 
 ago had been her absolute master for the great 
 ones, eluding all restraint with a quiet though 
 savage independence. He never sat up late, 
 being in the habit, like other fishermen, of rising 
 before break of day. And after supper at eight 
 o'clock, he had given another satisfactory look to 
 his baskets and new nets from Loguivy, and be- 
 gan to undress — calm to all appearances, and went 
 up to sleep in the pink-curtained bed, which he 
 
 shared with his little brother Laumec, 
 
 92 
 
Sailors at the Play 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 SAILORS AT THE PLAY 
 
 j OR the last fortnight Gaud's little confidant, 
 Sylvestre, had been quartered in Brest ; very 
 much out of his element, but very quiet and 
 obedient to discipline. He wore his open blue 
 sailor-collar and red-balled, flat, woollen cap, 
 with a frank, fearless look, and was noble and 
 dignified in his sailor garb, with his free step and 
 tall figure, but at the bottom of his heart he was 
 still the same innocent boy as ever, and thinking 
 of his dear old grandam. 
 
 One evening he had got tipsy together with 
 some lads from his parts, simply because it is the 
 custom ; and they had all returned to the bar- 
 racks together arm-in-arm, singing out as lustily 
 as they could. 
 
 And one Sunday, too, they had all gone to 
 the theatre, in the upper galleries. A melodrama 
 was being played, and the sailors, exasperated 
 against the villain, greeted him with a howl, 
 which they all roared together, like a blast of 
 the Atlantic cyclones. 
 
 93 
 
In the Breton Land 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 ORDERED ON FOREIGN SERVICE 
 
 One day Sylvestre was summoned before the 
 officer of his company; and they told him he 
 was among those ordered out to China — in the 
 squadron for Formosa. He had been pretty 
 well expecting it for some time, as he had heard 
 those who read the papers say that out there the 
 war seemed never-ending. 
 
 And because of the urgency of the departure, 
 he was informed at the same time that he would 
 not be able to have the customary leave for his 
 home farewells ; in five days' time he would have 
 to pack up and be off. 
 
 Then a bitter pain came over him ; though 
 charmed at the idea of far-oif travels amid the 
 unknown and of the war. There also was agony 
 at the thought of leaving all he knew and loved, 
 with the vague apprehension that he might never 
 more return. 
 
 A thousand noises rang in his head. Around 
 was the bustle of the barrack-rooms, where hun- 
 dreds of others were called up, like himself, 
 chosen for the Chinese squadron. And rapidly 
 he wrote to his old grandmother, with a stump 
 
 94 
 
Moan's Sweetheart 
 
 of pencil, crouching on the floor, alone in his 
 own feverish dream, though in the thick of the 
 continual hurry and hubbub amidst all the young 
 sailors hurried away like himself. 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 moan's sweetheart 
 
 "His sweetheart's a trifle old!" said the 
 others, a couple of days later, as they laughed 
 after Sylvestre and his grandmother, *'but they 
 seem to get on fine together all the same." 
 
 It amused them to see the boy, for the first 
 time, walk through the streets of Recouvrance, 
 with a woman at his side, like the rest of them ; 
 and, bending towards her with a tender look, 
 whisper what seemed to be very soft nothings. 
 
 She was a very quick, diminutive person seen 
 from behind, with rather short skirts for the 
 fashion of the day ; and a scanty brown shawl, 
 and a high Paimpol coiffe. She, too, hanging on 
 his arm, turned towards him with an affectionate 
 glance. 
 
 *• A trifle old was his sweetheart ! " 
 
 That's what the others called after him, we 
 say, but without spite, for any ooe could see that 
 
 VOL. 20 9$ Romances 6 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 she was his old granny, come up from the country. 
 She had come, too, in a hurry, suddenly terrified 
 at the news of his sudden departure; for this 
 Chinese war had already cost Paimpol many 
 sailors. So she had scraped together all her 
 poor little savings, put« her best Sunday dress 
 and a fresh clean coiffe in a box, and had set out 
 to kiss him once again. 
 
 She had gone straight to the barracks to ask 
 for him ; at first his adjutant had refused to let 
 him go out. 
 
 . " If youVe anything to say, my good woman, 
 go and speak to the captain yourself. There he 
 is, passing." 
 
 So she calmly walked up to him, and he 
 allowed himself to be won over. 
 
 ** Send Moan to change his clothes, to go 
 out," said he. 
 
 All in hot haste Moan had gone to rig up in 
 his best attire, while the good old lady, to make 
 him laugh, of course, made a most inimitably 
 droll face and a mock curtsey at the adjutant 
 behind his back. 
 
 But when the grandson appeared in his full 
 
 uniform, with the inevitable turned-down collar, 
 
 leaving his throat bare, she was quite struck with 
 
 his beauty ; his black beard was cut into a sea- 
 
 96 
 
Moan's Sweetheart 
 
 manly fashionable point by the barber, and his 
 cap was decked out with long floating ribbons, 
 with a golden anchor at each end. For the 
 moment she almost saw in him her son Pierre, 
 who, twenty years before, had also been a sailor 
 in the navy, and the remembrance of the far past, 
 with all its dead, stealthily shadowed the present 
 hour. 
 
 But the sadness soon passed away. Arm-in- 
 arm they strolled on, happy to be together ; and 
 it was then that the others had pretended to see 
 in her his sweetheart, and voted her "a trifle 
 old." 
 
 She had taken him, for a treat, to dine in an 
 inn kept by some people from Paimpol, which 
 had been recommended to her as rather cheap. 
 And then, still arm-in-arm, they had sauntered 
 through Brest, looking at the shop-windows. 
 There never were such funny stories told as 
 those she told her grandson to make him laugh ; 
 of course all in Paimpol Breton, so that the pass* 
 ers-by might not understand. 
 
 97 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 OLD AND YOUNG 
 
 She stayed three days with him, three happy 
 days, though over them hung a dark and ominous 
 forecast ; one might as well call them three days 
 of respite. 
 
 -At last she was forced to return to Ploubaz- 
 lanec, for she had come to the end of her little 
 savings, and Sylvestre was to embark the day 
 afterward. The sailors are always inexorably 
 kept in barracks the day before foreign cruises 
 (a custom that seems rather barbarous at first, 
 but which is a necessary precaution against the 
 " flings " they would have before leaving defi- 
 nitely). 
 
 Oh, that last day ! She had done her very 
 best to hatch up some more funny stories in her 
 head, to tell her boy just at the parting, but she 
 had remembered nothing — no ; only tears had 
 welled up, and at every moment sobs choked her. 
 Hanging on his arm, she reminded him of a 
 thousand things he was not to forget to do, and 
 he also tried hard to repress his tears. They 
 had ended by going into a church to say their 
 prayers together. 
 
 98 
 
Old and Young 
 
 It was by the night train that she went. To 
 save a few pence, they had gone on foot to the 
 station ; he carrying her box, and holding her on 
 his strong arm, upon which she weighed heavily. 
 
 She was so very, very tired — poor old lady ! 
 She had scarcely any strength left after the ex- 
 ertion of the last three or four days. Her shoul- 
 ders were bent under her brown shawl, and she 
 had no force to bear herself up ; her youngish 
 look was gone, and she felt the weight of her 
 seventy-six years. 
 
 Oh ! how her heart ached at the thought that 
 it was all over, and that in a few moments she 
 must leave him ! Was he really to go out so 
 far, to China, perhaps to slaughter. She still 
 had him there with her, quite close, her poor 
 hands could yet grasp him — and yet he must go ; 
 all the strength of her will, all her tears, and all 
 her great heartrending despair — all ! would noth- 
 ing be of avail to keep him back ? 
 
 With her ticket, and her lunch-basket, and 
 her mittens in her grasp, agitated, she gave him 
 her last blessing and advice, and he answered her 
 with an obedient "Ay, ay," bending his head 
 tenderly towards her and gazing lovingly at her, 
 in his soft childish way. 
 
 **Now then, old lady, you must make up 
 99 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 your mind plaguey quick if you want to go by 
 this train ! " 
 
 The engine whistled. Suddenly terrified at 
 the idea of losing the train, she tore her box 
 from Sylvestre's grasp, and flinging it down, 
 threw her arms round his neck in a last and su- 
 preme embrace. 
 
 Many people on the platform stared at them, 
 but not one smiled. Hustled about by the por- 
 ters, worn out and full of pain, she pressed into 
 the first carriage near; the door was banged 
 quickly upon her, while Sylvestre, with all the 
 speed of a young sailor, rushed out of the station 
 to the rails beside the line to see the train pass. 
 
 A shrill screeching whistle, a noisy grinding 
 of the wheels, and his grandmother passed away, 
 leaving him leaning against the gate and swing- 
 ing up his cap with its flying ribbons, while she, 
 hanging out of the window of her third-class car- 
 riage, made an answering signal with her hand- 
 kerchief ; and for as long as she could see the 
 dark blue-clad figure, that was her child, followed 
 him with her eyes, throwing her whole soul into 
 that " good-bye ! " kept back to the last, and 
 always uncertain of realization when sailors are 
 concerned. 
 
 Look lon^ at your little Sylvestre, poor old 
 
 100 
 
The Eastern Vojrage 
 
 woman ; until the very latest moment, do not 
 lose sight of his fleeting shadow, which is fading 
 away for ever. 
 
 When she could see him no longer, she fell 
 back, completely crushing her still clean unrum- 
 pled cap, weeping and sobbing in the agony of 
 death itself. 
 
 He had turned away slowly, with his head 
 bent, and big tears falling down his cheeks. The 
 autumn night had closed in ; everywhere the gas 
 was flaring, and the sailors' riotous feasts had be- 
 gun anew. Paying no heed to anything about 
 him, he passed through Brest and over the Re- 
 couvrance Bridge, to the barracks. 
 
 " Whist ! here, you darling boy ! " called out 
 some nocturnal prowlers to him ; but he passed 
 on, and entering the barracks, flung himself 
 down in his hammock, weeping, all alone, and 
 hardly sleeping until dawn. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE EASTERN VOYAGE 
 
 Sylvestre was soon out on the ocean, rapidly 
 whisked away over the unknown seas, far more 
 blue than Iceland's. The ship that carried him 
 
 lOI 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 off to the confines of Asia was ordered to go at 
 full speed and stop nowhere. Ere long he felt 
 that he was far away, for the speed was unceasing, 
 and even without a care for the sea or the wind. 
 As he was a topman, he lived perched aloft, like 
 a bird, avoiding the soldiers crowded upon the 
 deck. 
 
 Twice they stopped, however, on the coast of 
 Tunis, to take up more Zouaves and mules ; 
 from afar he had perceived the white cities amid 
 sands and arid hills. He had even come down 
 from his top to look at the dark-brown men 
 draped in their white robes who came off in 
 small boats to peddle fruit ; his mates told him 
 that these were Bedouins. 
 
 The heat and the sun, which were unlessened 
 by the autumn season, made him feel out of his 
 element 
 
 One day they touched at Port Said. All the 
 flags of Europe waved overhead from long staves, 
 which gave it an aspect of Babel on a feast-day, 
 and the glistening sands surrounded the town 
 like a moving sea. 
 
 They had stopped there, touching the quays, 
 almost in the midst of the long streets full of 
 wooden shanties. Since his departure, Sylvestre 
 never had seen the outside world so closely, and 
 
 102 
 
The Eastern Voyage 
 
 the movement and numbers of boats excited and 
 amused him. 
 
 With never-ending screeching from their es- 
 cape-pipes, all these boats crowded up in the long 
 canal, as narrow as a ditch, which wound itself in 
 a silvery line through the infinite sands. From 
 his post on high he could see them as in a pro- 
 cession under a window, till disappearing in the 
 plain. 
 
 On the canal all kinds of costumes could be 
 seen ; men in many-coloured attire, busy and 
 shouting like thunder. And at night the clam- 
 our of confused bands of music mingled with 
 the diabolical screams of the locomotives, play- 
 ing noisy tunes, as if to drown the heart-break- 
 ing sorrow of the exiles who for ever passed 
 onward. 
 
 The next day, at sunrise, they, too, glided 
 into the narrow ribbon of water between the 
 sands. For two days the steaming in the long 
 file through the desert lasted, then another sea 
 opened before them, and they were once again 
 upon the open. They still ran at full speed 
 through this warmer expanse, stained like red 
 marble., with their boiling wake like blood. Syl- 
 vestre remained all the time up in his top, where 
 he would hum his old song of ** Jean-Frangois de 
 
 103 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 Nantes," to remind him of his dear brother Yann, 
 of Iceland, and the good old bygone days. 
 
 Sometimes, in the depths of the shadowy dis- 
 tance, some wonderfully tinted mountain would 
 arise. Notwithstanding the distance and the dim- 
 ness around, the names of those projected capes 
 of countries appeared as the eternal landmarks 
 on the great roadways of the earth to the steers- 
 men of this vessel ; but a topman is carried on 
 like an inanimate thing, knowing nothing, and 
 unconscious of the distance over the everlasting, 
 endless waves. 
 
 All he felt was a terrible estrangement from 
 the things of this world, which grew greater and 
 greater; and the feeling was very defined and 
 exact as he looked upon the seething foam be- 
 hind, and tried to remember how long had lasted 
 this pace that never slackened night or day. 
 Down on deck, the crowd of men, huddled 
 together in the shadow of the awnings, panted 
 with weariness. The water and the air, even the 
 very light above, had a dull, crushing splendour ; 
 and the fadeless glory of those elements were as 
 jSL^my mockery of the human beings whose phys- 
 -ical lives are, so ephemeral. 
 
 Once, up in his crow's nest, he was gladdened 
 by the sight of flocks of tiny birds, of an un- 
 
 104 
 
The Eastern Voyage 
 
 known species, which fell upon the ship like a 
 whirlwind of coal dust. They allowed themselves 
 to be taken and stroked, being worn out with 
 fatigue. All the sailors had them as pets upon 
 their shoulders. But soon the most exhausted 
 among them began to die, and before long they 
 died by thousands on the rigging, yards, ports, 
 and sails — poor little things ! — under the blasting 
 sun of the Red Sea. They had come to destruc- 
 tion, off the Great Desert, fleeing before a sand- 
 storm. And through fear of falling into the blue 
 waters that stretched on all sides, they had ended 
 their last feeble flight upon the passing ship. 
 Over yonder, in some distant region of Libya, 
 they had been fledged in masses. Indeed, there 
 were so many of them, that their blind and un- 
 kind mother, Nature, had driven away before 
 her this surplus, as unmoved as if they had been 
 superabundant men. On the scorching funnels 
 and ironwork of the ship they died away ; the 
 deck was strewn with their puny forms, only 
 yesterday so full of life, songs, and love. Now, 
 poor little black dots, Sylvestre and the others 
 picked them up, spreading out their delicate blue 
 wings, with a look of pity, and swept them over- 
 board into the abysmal sea. 
 
 Next came hosts of locusts, the spawn of 
 105 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 those conjured up by Moses, and the ship was 
 covered with them. At length, though, it surged 
 on a lifeless blue sea, where they saw no things 
 around them, except from time to time the flying 
 fish skimming along the level water. 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE ORIENT 
 
 Rain in torrents, under a heavy black sky. 
 This was India. Sylvestre had just set foot upon 
 land, chance selecting him to complete the crew 
 of a whale boat. He felt the warm shower upon 
 him through the thick foliage, and looked around, 
 surprised at the novel sight. All was magnifi- 
 cently green ; the leaves of the trees waved like 
 gigantic feathers, and the people walking beneati: 
 them had large velvety eyes, which seemed to 
 close under the weight of their lashes. The very 
 wind that brought the rain had the odour of musk 
 and flowers. 
 
 At a distance, dusky girls beckoned him to 
 come to them. Some happy strain they sang, 
 like the ** Whist ! here, you darling boy ! " so often 
 heard at Brest. But seductive as was their coun- 
 try, their call was imperious and exasperating, 
 
 io6 
 
The Orient 
 
 making his very flesh shudder. Their perfect 
 bosoms rose and fell under transparent muslin, 
 in which they were solely draped; they were 
 glowing and polished as in bronze statues. Hesi- 
 tating, fascinated by them, he wavered about, fol- 
 lowing them ; but the boatswain's sharp shrill 
 whistle rent the air with bird-like trills, sum- 
 moning him hurriedly back to his boat, about 
 to push off. 
 
 He took his flight, and bade farewell to India's 
 beauties. 
 
 After a second week of the blue sea, they 
 paused off another land of dewy verdure. A 
 crowd of yellow men appeared, yelling out and 
 pressing on deck, bringing coal in baskets. 
 
 "Already in China?" asked Sylvestre, at the 
 aght of these grotesque figures in p?gtails. 
 
 "Bless you, no, not yet," they told him; 
 " have a little more patience." 
 
 It was only Singapore. He went up into his 
 mast-top again, to avoid the black dust tossed 
 about by the breeze, while the coal was fever- 
 ishly heaped up in the bunkers from little 
 baskets. 
 
 One day, at length, they arrived off a land 
 
 called Tourane, where the Circe was anchored, 
 
 to blockade the port. This was the ship to which 
 
 107 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 Sylvestre had been long ago assigned, and he was 
 left there with his bag. 
 
 On board he met with two mates from home, 
 Icelanders, who were captains of guns for the 
 time being. Through the long, hot, still even- 
 ings, when there was no work to be done, they 
 clustered on deck apart from the others, to form 
 together a little Brittany of remembrances. 
 
 Five months he passed there in inaction and 
 exile, locked up in the cheerless bay, with the 
 feverish desire to go out and fight and slay, for 
 change's sake. 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 A CURIOUS RENCONTRE 
 
 In Paimpol again, on the last day of Feb- 
 ruary, before the setting-out for Iceland. Gaud 
 was standing up against her room door, pale and 
 still. For Yann was below, chatting to her 
 father. She had seen him come in, and indis- 
 tinctly heard his voice. 
 
 All through the winter they never had met, 
 as if some invincible fate always had kept them 
 apart. 
 
 After the failure to find him in her walk to 
 Pors-Even, she had placed some hope on the 
 
 io8 
 
A Curious Rencontre 
 
 Pardon des Islandais where there would be many 
 chances for them to see and talk to one an- 
 other, in the market-place at dusk, among the 
 crowd. 
 
 But on the very morning of the holiday, 
 though the streets were already draped in white 
 and strewn with green garlands, a hard rain had 
 fallen in torrents, brought from the west by a 
 soughing wind ; never had so black a sky shad- 
 owed Paimpol. *' What a pity ! the boys won't 
 come over from Ploubazlanec now," had moaned 
 the lasses, whose sweethearts dwelt there. And 
 they did not come, or else had gone straight into 
 the taverns to drink together. 
 
 There had been no processions or strolls, and 
 she, with her heart aching more than ever, had 
 remained at her window the whole evening listen- 
 ing to the water streaming over the roofs, and 
 the fishers' noisy songs rising and falling out of 
 the depths of the taverns. 
 
 For the last few days she had been expecting 
 
 this visit, surmising truly that old Gaos would 
 
 send his son to terminate the business concerning 
 
 the sale of the boat, as he did not care to come 
 
 into Paimpol himself. She determined then ihat 
 
 she would go straight to him, and, unlike other 
 
 girls, speak out frankly, to have her conscience 
 
 109 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 clear on the subject. She would reproach him 
 with having sought her out and having abandoned 
 her like a man without honour. If it were only 
 stubbornness, timidity, his great love for his 
 sailor-life, or simply the fear of a refusal, as Syl- 
 vestre had hinted, why, all these objections would 
 disappear, after a frank, fair understanding be^ 
 tween them. His fond smile might return^ 
 which had charmed and won her the winter be- 
 fore, and all would be settled. This hope gave 
 her strength and courage, and sweetened her im- 
 patience. From afar, things always appear so 
 easy and simple to say and to do. 
 
 This visit of Yann's fell by chance at a con- 
 venient hour. She was sure that her father, who 
 was sitting and smoking, would not get up to 
 walk part of the way with him ; so in the empty 
 passage she might have her explanation out with 
 him. 
 
 But now that the time had come, such bold- 
 ness seemed extreme. The bare idea of looking 
 him face to face at the foot of those stairs, made 
 her tremble ; and her heart beat as if it would 
 break. At any moment the door below might 
 open, with the squeak she knew so well, to let 
 him out ! 
 
 ** No, no, she never would dare ; rather would 
 no 
 
 < 
 
A Curious Rencontre 
 
 she die of longing and sorrow, than attempt such 
 an act." She already made a few return steps 
 towards the back of her room, to regain her seat 
 and work. But she stopped again, hesitating 
 and afraid, remembering that to-morrow was the 
 sailing day for Iceland, and that this occasion 
 stood alone. If she let it slip by, she would 
 have to wait through months upon months of 
 solitude and despair, languishing for his return — 
 losing another whole summer of her life. 
 
 Below, the door opened — Yann was coming 
 out! 
 
 Suddenly resolute, she rushed downstairs, and 
 tremblingly stood before him. 
 
 '* Monsieur Yann, I — I wish to speak to you, 
 please." 
 
 "To me, Mademoiselle Gaud?" queried he, 
 lowering his voice and snatching off his hat. 
 
 He looked at her fiercely, with a hard expres- 
 sion in his flashing eyes, and his head thrown 
 back, seeming even to wonder if he ought to 
 stop for her at all. With one foot ready to 
 start away, he stood straight up against the 
 wall, as if to be as far apart from her as pos- 
 sible, in the narrow passage, where he felt im* 
 prisoned. 
 
 Paralyzed, she could remember nothing of 
 in 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 what she had wished to say ; she had not thought 
 he would try and pass on without listening to 
 her. What an affront ! 
 
 " Does our house frighten you, Monsieur 
 Yann ? " she asked, in a dry, odd tone — not at 
 all the one she wished to use. 
 
 He turned his eyes away, looking outside ; 
 his cheeks blazed red, a rush of blood burned all 
 his face, and his quivering nostrils dilated with 
 every breath, keeping time with the heavings of 
 liis chest, like a young bull's. 
 
 " The night of the ball," she tried to continue, 
 ** when we were together, you bade me good-bye, 
 not as a man speaks to an indifferent person. 
 Monsieur Yann, have you no memory ? What 
 have I done to vex you ? " 
 
 The nasty western breeze blowing in from 
 the street ruffled his hair and the frills of Gaud's 
 coiffe, and behind them a door was banged furi- 
 ously. The passage was not meet for talking of 
 serious matters in. After these first phrases, 
 choking. Gaud remained speechless, feeling her 
 head spin, and without ideas. They still ad- 
 vanced towards the street door; he seemed so 
 anxious to get away, and she was so determined 
 not to be shaken off. 
 
 Outside the wind blew noisily and the sky 
 
 112 
 
A Curious Rencontre 
 
 was black. A sad livid light fell upon their 
 faces through the open door. And an opposite 
 neighbour looked at them : what could the pair 
 be saying to one another in that passage together, 
 looking so troubled ? What was wrong over at 
 the M^vel's ? 
 
 " Nay, Mademoiselle Gaud," he answered at 
 last, turning away with the powerful grace of a 
 young lion, " I've heard folks talk about us quite 
 enough already ! Nay, Mademoiselle Gaud, for, 
 you see, you are rich, and we are not people of 
 the same class. I am not the fellow to come 
 after a * swell ' lady." 
 
 He went forth on his way. So now all was 
 over for ever and ever. She had not even said 
 what she wished in that interview, which had 
 only made her seem a very bold girl in his sight. 
 What kind of a fellow was this Yann, with his 
 contempt for women, his scorn for money, and 
 all desirable things ? 
 
 At first she remained fixed to the spot, sick 
 with giddiness, as things swam around her. One 
 intolerably painful thought suddenly struck her 
 like a flash of lightning — Yann's comrades, the 
 Icelanders, were waiting for him below in the 
 market-place. What if he were to tell them this 
 as a good joke — what a still more odious affront 
 
 ^13 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 upon her! She quickly returned to her room 
 to watch them through her window-curtains. 
 
 Before the house, indeed, she saw the men 
 assembled, but they were simply contemplating 
 the weather, which was becoming worse and 
 worse, and discussed the threatening rain. 
 
 "It'll only be a shower. Let's go in and 
 drink away the time, till it passes.'* 
 
 They poked jokes and laughed loudly over 
 Jeannie Caroff and other beauties ; but not even 
 one of them looked up at her window. They 
 were all joyful, except Yann, who said nothing, 
 and remained grave and sad. He did not go in 
 to drink with them ; and without noticing either 
 them or the rain, which had begun to fall, he 
 slowly walked away under the shower, as if ab- 
 sorbed in his thoughts, crossing the market-place 
 towards Ploubazlanec. 
 
 Then she forgave him all, and a feeling of 
 hopeless tenderness for him came, instead of the 
 bitter disappointment that previously had filled 
 her heart. She sat down and held her head be- 
 tween her hands. What could she do now ? 
 
 Oh ! if he had listened only a moment to her, 
 
 or if he could come into that room, where they 
 
 might speak together alone, perhaps all might 
 
 yet be arranged. She loved him enough to tell 
 
 114 
 
A Curious Rencontre 
 
 him so to his face. She would say to him : " You 
 sought me out when I asked you for nothing ; 
 now I am yours with my whole soul, if you will 
 have me. I don't mind a bit being the wife of 
 a fisherman, and yet, if I liked, I need but choose 
 among all the young men of Paimpol ; but I 
 do love you, because, notwithstanding all, I be- 
 lieve you to be better than others. I'm tolerably 
 well-to-do, and I know I am pretty ; although I 
 have lived in towns, I am sure that I am not a 
 spoiled girl, as I never have done anything wrong ; 
 then, if I love you so, why shouldn't you take 
 me?" 
 
 But all this never would be said except in 
 dreams ; it was too late ! Yann would not hear 
 her. Try and talk to him a second time ? Oh, 
 no ! what kind of a creature would he take her 
 then to be ? She would rather die. 
 
 Yet to-morrow they would all start for Ice- 
 land. The whitish February daylight streamed 
 into her fine room. Chill and lonely she fell 
 upon one of the chairs along the wall. It seemed 
 to her as if the whole world were crashing and 
 falling in around her. All things past and present 
 were as if buried in a fearful abyss, which yawned 
 on all sides of her. She wished her life would 
 end, and that she were lying calm beneath some 
 
 fli5 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 cold tombstone, where no more pain might 
 touch her. 
 
 But she had sincerely forgiven him, and no 
 hatred mingled with her desperate love. 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 STRIKING THE ROCK UNKNOWN 
 
 The sea, the gray sea once more, where Yann 
 was gently gliding along its broad, trackless road, 
 that leads the fishermen every year to the Land 
 of Ice. 
 
 The day before, when they all had set off to 
 the music of the old hymns, there blew a brisk 
 breeze from the south, and all the ships with their 
 outspread sails had dispersed like so many gulls ; 
 but that breeze had suddenly subsided, and speed 
 had diminished; great fog-banks covered the 
 watery surface. 
 
 Yann was perhaps quieter than usual. He 
 said that the weather was too calm, and appeared 
 to excite himself, as if he would drive away some 
 care that weighed upon him. But he had noth- 
 ing to do but be carried serenely in the midst of 
 serene things ; only to breathe and let himself 
 
 live. On looking out, only the deep gray masses 
 
 1x6 
 
Striking the Rock Unknown 
 
 around could be seen ; on listening, only si- 
 lence. 
 
 Suddenly there was an almost imperceptible 
 rumbling, which came from below, accompanied 
 by a grinding sensation, as when a brake comes 
 hard down on carriage wheels. The Marie ceased 
 all movement. They had struck. Where, and 
 on what ? Some bank off the English coast 
 probably. For since overnight they had been 
 able to see nothing,' with those curtains of mist. 
 
 The men ran and rushed about, their bustle 
 contrasting strongly with the sudden rigidity of 
 their ship. How had the Marie come to a stop 
 in that spot ? In the midst of that immensity of 
 fluid in this dull weather, seeming to be almost 
 without consistence, she had been seized by some 
 resistless immovable power hidden beneath the 
 waves ; she was tight in its grasp, and might per- 
 ish there. 
 
 Who has not seen poor birds caught by their 
 feet in the lime ? At first they can scarcely be- 
 lieve they are caught ; it changes nothing in their 
 aspect ; but they soon are sure that they are held 
 fast, and in danger of never getting free again. 
 And when they struggle to get free, and the 
 sticky stuff soils their wings and heads, they 
 gradually assume that pitiful look of a dumb 
 
 117 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 creature in distress, about to die. Such was the 
 case with the Marie, At first it did not seem 
 much to be concerned about ; she certainly was 
 careened a little on one side, but it was broad 
 morning, ,and the weather was fair and calm ; one 
 Vad to know such things by experience to be- 
 come uneasy, and understand that it was a serious 
 matter. 
 
 The captain was to be pitied. It was his fault, 
 as he had not understood exactly where they were. 
 He wrung his hands, saying : " God help us ! God 
 help us ! " in a voice of despair. 
 
 Close to them, during a lifting of the fog, 
 they could distinguish a headland, but not recog- 
 nise it But the mists covered it anew, and they 
 saw it no longer. 
 
 There was no sail or smoke in sight. They 
 all jostled about, hurrying and knocking the deck 
 lumber over. Their dog Turc, who did not usu- 
 ally mind the movement of the sea, was greatly 
 affected too by this incident, these sounds from 
 down below, these heavy wallowings when the 
 low swell passed under, and the sudden calm that 
 afterwards followed ; he understood that all this 
 was unusual, and he hid himself away in corners, 
 with his tail between his legs. They got out the 
 boats to carry the kedges and set them firm, and 
 
 ii8 
 
Striking the Rock Unknown 
 
 tried to row her out of it by uniting all their 
 forces together upon the tow-lines — a heavy piece 
 of work this, which lasted ten successive hours. 
 So, when evening came, the poor bark, which had 
 only that morning been so fresh and light, looked 
 almost swamped, fouled, and good for nothing. 
 She had fought hard, floundered about on all 
 sides, but still remained there, fixed as in a 
 dock. 
 
 Night was overtaking them ; the wind and 
 the waves were rising; things were growing 
 worse, when, all of a sudden, towards six o'clock, 
 they were let go clear, and could be off again, 
 tearing asunder the tow-lines, which they had 
 left to keep her head steady. The men went 
 rushing about like madmen, cheering from stem 
 to stem — " We're afloat, boys I " 
 
 They were afloat, with a joy that cannot be 
 described ; what it was to feel themselves going 
 forwards on a buoyant craft again, instead of on 
 the semi-wreck it was before, none but a seaman 
 feels, and few of them can tell. 
 
 Yann's sadness had disappeared too. Like 
 his ship, he became lively once more, cured by 
 the healthy manual labour; he had found his 
 reckless look again, and had thrown off his glum 
 thoughts. 
 
 VOL. 20 1 1^ Romances 7 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 Next morning, when the kedges were fished 
 up, the Marie went on her way to Iceland, and 
 Yann's heart, to all appearance, was as free as in 
 his early years. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 HOME NEWS 
 
 The home letters were being distributed on 
 board the Circe, at anchor at Ha-Long, over on 
 the other side of the earth. In the midst of a 
 group of sailors, the purser called out, in a loud 
 voice, the names of the fortunate men who had 
 letters to receive. This went on at evening, on 
 the ship's side, all crushing round a funnel. 
 
 " Moan, Sylvestre ! " There was one for him, 
 postmarked *' Paimpol," but it was not Gaud's 
 writing. What did that mean ? from whom did 
 it come else ? 
 
 After having turned and flourished it about, 
 he opened it fearingly, and read : 
 
 ** Ploubazlanec, March 5th, 1884. 
 
 "My dear Grandson : " 
 
 So, it was from his dear old granny. He 
 breathed free again. At the bottom of the letter 
 she even had placed her signature, learned by 
 
 120 
 
Home News 
 
 heart, but trembling like a school^rrs scribble : 
 *• Widow Moan." 
 
 " Widow Moan ! " With a quick spontaneous 
 movement he carried the paper to his lips and 
 kissed the poor name, as a sacred relic. For this 
 letter arrived at a critical moment of his life ; to- 
 morrow at dawn, he was to set out for the battle- 
 field. 
 
 It was in the middle of April ; Bac-Ninh and 
 Hong-Hoa had just been taken. There was no 
 great warfare going on in Tonquin, yet the rein- 
 forcements arriving were not sufficient ; sailors 
 were taken from all the ships to make up the 
 deficit in the corps already disembarked. Syl- 
 vestre, who had languished so long in the midst 
 of cruises and blockades, had just been selected 
 with some others to fill up the vacancies. 
 
 It is true that now peace was spoken of, but 
 something told them that they yet would disem- 
 bark in good time to fight a bit. They packed 
 their bags, made all their other preparations, and 
 said good-bye, and all the evening through they 
 strolled about with their unfortunate mates who 
 had to remain, feeling much grander and prouder 
 than they. Each in his own way showed his im- 
 pression at this departure — some were grave and 
 serious, others exuberant and talkative. 
 
 121 
 
In the Breton Land 
 
 Sylvestre was very quiet and thoughtful, 
 though impatient ; only, when they looked at 
 him, his smile seemed to say, " Yes, I'm one of 
 the fighting party, and huzza I the action is for 
 to-morrow morning ! " 
 
 Of gunshots and battle he formed but an in- 
 complete idea as yet ; but they fascinated him, 
 for he came of a valiant race. 
 
 The strange writing of his letter made him 
 anxious about Gaud, and he drew near a porthole 
 to read the epistle through. It was difficult 
 amid all those half-naked men pressing round, 
 in the unbearable heat of the gundeck. 
 
 As he thought she would do, in the beginning 
 of her letter Granny Moan explained why she had 
 had to take recourse to the inexperienced hand 
 of an old neighbour : 
 
 " My dear child, I don't ask your cousin to 
 write for me to-day, as she is in great trouble. 
 Her father died suddenly two days ago. It ap- 
 pears that his whole fortune has been lost through 
 unlucky gambling last winter in Paris. So his 
 house and furniture will have to be sold. No» 
 body in the place was expecting this. I think, 
 dear child, that this will pain you as much as it 
 does me. 
 
 12;; 
 
Home News 
 
 " Gaos, the son, sends you his kind remem- 
 brance ; he has renewed his articles with Captain 
 Guermeur of the Marie, and the departure for 
 Iceland was rather early this year, for they set 
 sail on the first of the month, two days before 
 our poor Gaud's trouble, and he don't know of 
 it yet. 
 
 " But you can easily imagine that we shall 
 not get them wed now, for she will be obliged to 
 work for her daily bread." 
 
 Sylvestre dwelt stupor-stricken ; this bad news 
 quite spoiled his glee at going out to fight. 
 
 133 
 
PART III 
 IN THE SHADOW 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 THE SKIRMISH 
 
 Hark f a bullet hurtles through the air! 
 
 Sylvestre stops short to listen ! 
 
 He is upon an infinite meadow, green with 
 the soft velvet carpet of spring. The sky is 
 gray, lowering, as if to weigh upon one's very 
 shoulders. 
 
 They are six sailors reconnoitring among the 
 fresh rice-fields, in a muddy pathway. 
 
 Hist ! again the whizz, breaking the silence 
 of the air — a shrill, continuous sound, a kind of 
 prolonged zing, giving one a strong impression 
 that the pellets buzzing by might have stung 
 fatally. 
 
 For the first time in his life Sylvestre hears 
 that music. The bullets coming towards a man 
 have a different sound from those fired by him- 
 self : the far-off report is attenuated, or not heard 
 at all, so it is easier to distinguish the sharp rush 
 of metal as it swiftly passes by, almost grazing 
 
 one's ears. 
 
 127 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 Crack ! whizz ! ping ! again and ytt 
 The balls fall in regular showers no 
 the sailors they stop short, and are hu 
 flooded soil of the rice-fields, accompanied by a 
 faint splash, like hail falling sharp and swift m a 
 puddle of water. 
 
 The marines looked at one another as if it 
 was all a piece of odd fun, and said : 
 
 " Only John Chinaman ! pish !" 
 
 To the sailors, Annamites, Tonquinese, or 
 " Black Flags " are all of the same Chinese family. 
 It is difficult to show their contempt and mock- 
 ing rancour, as well as eagerness for "bowling 
 over the beggars," when they speak of "the 
 Chinese." 
 
 Two or three bullets are still flying about, 
 more closely grazing ; they can be seen bouncing 
 like grasshoppers in the green. The slight shower 
 of lead did not last long. 
 
 Perfect silence returns to the broad verdant 
 plain, and nowhere can anything be seen moving. 
 The same six are still there, standing on the watch, 
 scenting the breeze, and trying to discover whence 
 the volley came. Surely from over yonder, by 
 that clump of bamboos, which looks like an island 
 of feathers in the plain ; behind it several pointed 
 roofs appear half hidden. So they all made for 
 
 128 
 
The Skirmish 
 
 it, tJieir feet slipping or sinking into the soaked 
 S|jM^Bl|5CStre runs foremost, on his longer, more 
 nimaj^lgs. 
 
 Ifo more buzz of bullets; they might have 
 thought they were dreaming. 
 
 As in all the countries of the world, some 
 features are the same ; the cloudy gray skies and 
 the fresh tints of fields in spring-time, for ex- 
 ample ; one could imagine this upon French 
 meadows, and these young fellows, running mer- 
 rily over them, playing a very different sport from 
 this game of death. 
 
 But as they approach, the bamboos show the 
 exotic delicacy of their foliage, and the village 
 roofs grow sharper in the singularity of their 
 curves, and yellow men hidden behind advance 
 to reconnoitre ; their flat faces are contracted by 
 fear and spitefulness. Then suddenly they rush 
 out screaming, and deploy into a long line, trem- 
 bling, but decided and dangerous. 
 
 " The Chinese ! " shout the sailors again, with 
 their same brave smile. 
 
 But this time they find that there are a good 
 
 many — too many ; and one of them turning round 
 
 perceives other Chinese coming from behind, 
 
 springing up from the long tall grass. 
 
 At this moment, young Sylvestre oame out 
 129 
 
wm 
 
 In the Shadow 
 
 grand ; his old granny would have been proud to 
 see him such a warrior. Since the last fejj^days 
 he had altered. His face was bronzed, and his 
 voice strengthened. He was in his own eleTnent 
 here. 
 
 In a moment of supreme indecision the sailors 
 hit by the bullets almost yielded to an impulse of 
 retreat, which would certainly have been death to 
 them all ; but Sylvestre continued to advance, 
 clubbing his rifle, and fighting a whole band, 
 knocking them down right and left with smash- 
 ing blows from the butt-end. Thanks to him 
 the situation was reversed ; that panic or mad- 
 ness that blindly deceives all in these leader- 
 less skirmishes had now passed over to the Chi- 
 nese side, and it was they who began to re- 
 treat. 
 
 It was soon all over ; they were fairly taking 
 to their heels. The six sailors, reloading their 
 repeating rifles, shot them down easily ; upon the 
 grass lay dead bodies by red pools, and skulls 
 were emptying their brains into the river. 
 
 They fled, cowering like leopards. Sylvestre 
 
 ran after them, although he had had two wounds 
 
 —a lance-thrust in the thigh and a deep gash in 
 
 his arm ; but feeling nothing save the intoxication 
 
 of battle, that unreasoning fever that comes of 
 
 130 
 
The Skirmish 
 
 vigorous blood, gives lofty courage to simple 
 souls,, and made the heroes of antiquity. 
 
 One whom he was pursuing turned round, 
 and' with a spasm of desperate terror took a de- 
 liberate aim at him. Sylvestre stopped short, 
 smiling scornfully, sublime, to let him fire, and 
 seeing the direction of the aim, only shifted a 
 little to the left. But with the pressure upon 
 the trigger the barrel of the Chinese jingal de- 
 viated slightly in the same direction. He sud- 
 denly felt a smart rap upon his breast, and in a 
 flash of thought understood what it was, even 
 before feeling any pain ; he turned towards the 
 others following, and tried to cry out to them 
 the traditional phrase of the old soldier, " I think 
 it's all up with me ! " In the great breath that 
 he inhaled after having run, to refill his lungs 
 with air, he felt the air rush in also by a hole in 
 his right breast, with a horrible gurgling, like the 
 blast in a broken bellows. In that same time his 
 mouth filled with blood, and a sharp pain shot 
 through his side, which rapidly grew worse, until 
 it became atrocious and unspeakable. He whirled 
 round two or three times, his brain swimming 
 too; and gasping for breath through the rising 
 red tide that choked him, fell heavily in the mud. 
 
 131 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 " OUT, BRIEF CANDLE I " 
 
 About a fortnight later, as the sky was dark- 
 ening at the approach of the rains, and the heat 
 more heavily weighed over yellow Tonquin, Syl- 
 vestre brought to Hanoi, was sent to Ha-Long, 
 and placed on board a hospital-ship about to re- 
 turn to France. 
 
 He had been carried about for some time on 
 different stretchers, with intervals of rest at the 
 ambulances. They had done all they could for 
 him ; but under the insufficient conditions, his 
 chest had filled with water on the pierced side, 
 and the gurgling air entered through the wound, 
 which would not close up. 
 
 He had received the military medal, which 
 gave him a moment's joy. But he was no longer 
 the warrior of old — resolute of gait, and steady 
 in his resounding voice. All that had vanished 
 before the long-suffering and weakening fever. 
 He had become a home-sick boy again ; he hardly 
 spoke except in answering occasional questions, 
 in a feeble and almost inaudible voice. To feel 
 oneself so sick and so far away ; to think that it 
 wanted so many days before he could reach home I 
 
 132 
 
"Out, Brief Candle!" 
 
 Would he ever live until then, with his strength 
 ebbing away ? Such a terrifying feeling of dis- 
 tance continually haunted him and weighed at 
 every wakening; and when, after a few hours' 
 stupor, he awoke from the sickening pain of his 
 wounds, with feverish heat and the whistling 
 sound in his pierced bosom, he implored them to 
 put him on board, in spite of everything. He 
 was very heavy to carry into his ward, and with- 
 out intending it, they gave him some cruel jolts 
 on the way. 
 
 They laid him on one of the iron camp bed- 
 steads placed in rows, hospital fashion, and then 
 he set out in an inverse direction, on his long 
 journey through the seas. Instead of living like 
 a bird in the full wind of the tops, he remained 
 below deck, in the midst of the bad air of medi- 
 cines, wounds, and misery. 
 
 During the first days the joy of being home- 
 ward bound made him feel a little better. He 
 could even bear being propped up in bed with 
 pillows, and at times he asked for his box. His 
 seaman's chest was a deal box, bought in Paim- 
 pol, to keep all his loved treasures in ; inside 
 were letters from Granny Yvonne, and also from 
 Yann and Gaud, a copy-book into which he had 
 copied some sea-songs, and one of the works of 
 
 133 
 
■V 
 
 In the Shadow 
 
 Confucius in Chinese, caught up at random dur- 
 ing pillage ; on the blank sides of its leaves he 
 had written the simple account of his campaign. 
 
 Nevertheless he got no better, and after the 
 first week, the doctors decided that death was 
 imminent. They were near the Line now, in the 
 stifling heat of storms. The troop-ship kept on 
 her course, shaking her beds, the wounded and 
 the dying; quicker and quicker she sped over 
 the tossing sea, troubled still as during the sway 
 of the monsoons. 
 
 Since leaving Ha- Long more than one patient 
 died, and was consigned to the deep water on the 
 high road to France ; many of the narrow beds 
 no longer bore their suffering burdens. 
 
 Upon this particular day it was very gloomy 
 in the travelling hospital ; on account of the high 
 seas it had been necessary to close the iron port- 
 lids, which made the stifling sick-room more un- 
 bearable. Sylvestre was worse ; the end was 
 nigh. Lying always upon his wounded side, he 
 pressed upon it with both hands with all his re- 
 maining strength, to try and allay the watery 
 decomposition that rose in his right lung, and 
 to breathe with the other lung only. But by 
 degrees the other was affected and the ultimate 
 agony had begun. 
 
 134 
 
"Out, Brief Candle! 
 
 99 
 
 Dreams and visions of home haunted his 
 brain ; in the hot darkness, beloved or horrible 
 faces bent over him ; he was in a never-ending 
 hallucination, through which floated apparitions 
 of Brittany and Iceland. In the morning was 
 called in the priest, and the old man, who was 
 used to seeing sailors die, was astonished to find 
 so pure a soul in so strong and manly a body. 
 
 He cried out for air, air ! but there was none 
 anywhere ; the ventilators no longer gave any ; 
 the attendant, who was fanning him with a Chi- 
 nese fan, only moved unhealthy vapours over him 
 of sickening staleness, which revolted all lungs. 
 Sometimes fierce, desperate fits came over him ; 
 he wished to tear himself away from that bed, 
 where he felt death would come to seize him, 
 and rush above into the full fresh wind and try 
 to live again. Oh ! to be like those others, 
 scrambling about among the rigging, and living 
 among the masts. But his extreme effort only 
 ended in the feeble lifting of his weakened head ; 
 something like the incompleted movement of a 
 sleeper. He could not manage it, but fell back 
 in the hollow of his crumpled bed, partly chained 
 there by death ; and each time, after the fatigue 
 of a like shock, he lost all consciousness. 
 
 To please him they opened a port at last, 
 135 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 although it was dangerous, the sea being very 
 rough. It was going on for six in the evening. 
 When the disk was swung back, a red light en- 
 tered, glorious and radiant. The dying sun ap- 
 peared upon the horizon in dazzling splendour, 
 through a torn rift in a gloomy sky ; its blinding 
 light glanced over the waves, and lit up the 
 floating hospital, like a waving torch. 
 
 But no air rushed in ; the little there was out- 
 side, was powerless to enter and drive before it 
 the fevered atmosphere. Over all sides of that 
 boundless equatorial sea, floated a warm and 
 heavy moisture, unfit for respiration. No air on 
 any side, not even for the poor gasping fellows 
 on their deathbeds. 
 
 One vision disturbed him greatly ; it was of 
 his old grandmother, walking quickly along a 
 road, with a heartrending look of alarm ; from 
 low-lying funereal clouds above her, fell the 
 drizzling rain ; she was on her way to Paim- 
 pol, summoned thither to be informed of his 
 death. 
 
 He was struggling now, with the death-rattle 
 in his throat. From the corners of his mouth 
 they sponged away the water and blood, which 
 had welled up in quantities from his chest in 
 writhing agony. Still the grand, glorious sun lit 
 
 136 
 
««Out, Brief Candle I" 
 
 up all, like a conflagration of the whole world, 
 with blood-laden clouds; through the aperture 
 of the port-hole, a wide streak of crimson fire 
 blazed in, and, spreading over Sylvestre's bed, 
 formed a halo around him. 
 
 • o • • • • 
 
 At that very moment that same sun was to 
 be seen in Brittany, where midday was about to 
 strike. It was, indeed, the same sun, beheld at 
 the precise moment of its never-ending round ; 
 but here it kept quite another hue. Higher up 
 in the bluish sky, it kept shedding a soft white 
 light on grandmother Yvonne, sitting out at her 
 door, sewing. 
 
 . • • • • • 
 
 In Iceland, too, where it was morning, it wa? 
 shining at that same moment of death. Much paler 
 there, it seemed as if it only showed its face by 
 some miracle. Sadly it shed its rays over the 
 fjord where La Marie floated ; and now its sky 
 was lit up by a pure northern light, which always 
 gives the idea of a frozen planet's reflection, with- 
 out an atmosphere. With a cold accuracy, it out- 
 lined all the essentials of that stony chaos that is 
 Iceland ; the whole of the country as seen from 
 La Marie seemed fixed in one same perspective 
 and held upright. Yann was there, lit up by a 
 
 137 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 strange light, fishing, as usual, in the midst of 
 this lunar-like scenery. 
 
 • ••••• 
 
 As the beam of fiery flame that came through 
 the port-hole faded, and the sun disappeared com- 
 pletely under the gilded billows, the eyes of the 
 grandson rolled inward toward his brow as if to 
 fall back into his head. 
 
 They closed his eyelids with their own long 
 lashes, and Sylvestre became calm and beautiful 
 again, like a reclining marble statue of manly 
 repose. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE GRAVE ABROAD 
 
 I CANNOT refrain from telling you about Syl- 
 vestre's funeral, which I conducted myself in Sing- 
 apore. We had thrown enough other dead into 
 the Sea of China, during the early days of the 
 home voyage ; and as the Malay land was quite 
 near, we decided to keep his remains a few hours 
 longer, to bury him fittingly. 
 
 It was very early in the morning, on account 
 of the terrible sun. In the boat that carried him 
 ashore, his corpse was shrouded in the national 
 flag. The city was in sleep as we landed. A 
 
 138 
 
The Grave Abroad 
 
 wagonette, sent by the French Consul, was wait* 
 ing on the quay ; we laid Sylvestre upon it, with 
 a wooden cross made on board — the paint still 
 wet upon it, for the carpenter had to hurry over 
 it, and the white letters of his name ran into the 
 black ground. 
 
 We crossed that Babel in the rising sun. And 
 then it was such an emotion to find the serene 
 calm of an European place of worship in the 
 midst of the distasteful turmoil of the Chinese 
 country. Under the high white arch, where I 
 stood alone with my sailors, the '''Dies Irc^^' 
 chanted by a missionary priest, sounded like 
 a soft magical incantation. Through the open 
 doors we could see sights that resembled en- 
 chanted gardens, exquisite verdure and immense 
 palm-trees ; the wind shook the large flowering 
 shrubs and their perfumed crimson petals fell 
 like rain, almost into the church itself. Thence 
 we marched to the cemetery, very far off. Our 
 little procession of sailors was very unpretentious, 
 but the coffin remained conspicuously wrapped in 
 the flag of France. We had to traverse the Chi- 
 nese quarter, through seething crowds of yellow 
 men ; and then the Malay and Indian suburbs, 
 where all types of Asiatic faces looked upon us 
 with astonishment. 
 
 139 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 Then came the open country already heated ; 
 through shady groves where exquisite butterflies^ 
 on velvety blue wings, flitted in masses. On 
 either side, waved tall luxuriant palms, and quan- 
 tities of flowers in splendid profusion. At last 
 we came to the cemetery, with mandarins' tombs 
 and many-coloured inscriptions, adorned with 
 paintings of dragons and other monsters ; amid 
 astounding foliage and plants growing every- 
 where. The spot where we laid him down to 
 rest resembled a nook in the gardens of Indra. 
 Into the earth we drove the little wooaen cross^ 
 
 lettered : 
 
 SvLVESTRE Moan. 
 
 AGED 19. 
 
 And we left him, forced to go because of the 
 hot rising sun; we turned back once more to 
 look at him under those marvellous trees and 
 huge nodding flowers. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 TO THE SURVIVORS, THE SPOILS 
 
 The trooper continued its course through the 
 Indian Ocean. Down below in the floating hos- 
 pital other death-scenes went on. On deck there 
 
 140 
 
To the Survivors, the Spoils 
 
 vf^s carelessness of health and youth. Round 
 about, over the sea, was a very feast of pure sun 
 and air. 
 
 In this fine trade-wind weather, the sailors, 
 stretched in the shade of the sails, were playing 
 with little pet parrots and making them run races. 
 In this Singapore, which they had just left, the 
 sailors buy all kinds of tame animals. They had 
 all chosen baby*parrots, with childish looks upon 
 their hooknose faces ; they had no tails yet ; they 
 were green, of a wonderful shade. As they went 
 running over the clean white planks, they looked 
 like fresh young leaves, fallen from tropical trees. 
 
 Sometimes the sailors gathered them all to* 
 gather in one lot, when they inspected one an- 
 other funnily ; twisting about their throats, to be 
 seen under all aspects. They comically waddled 
 about like so many lame people, or suddenly 
 started off in a great hurry for some unknown 
 destination ; and some fell down in their excite- 
 ment. And there were monkeys, learning tricks 
 of all kinds, another source of amusement Some 
 were most tenderly loved and even kissed ex- 
 travagantly, as they nestled against the callous 
 bosoms of their masters, gazing fondly at them 
 with womanish eyes, half-grotesque and half- 
 touching. 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 Upon the stroke of three o'clock, the quarter* 
 masters brought on deck two canvas bags, sealed 
 with huge red seals, bearing Sylvestre's name ; 
 for by order of the regulations in regard to the 
 dead, all his clothes and personal worldly belong* 
 ings were to be sold by auction. The sailors 
 gaily grouped themselves around the pile; for, 
 on board a hospital ship, too many of these sales 
 of effects are seen to excite any particular emo- 
 tion. Besides, Sylvestre had been but little known 
 upon that ship. 
 
 His jackets and shirts and blue-striped jerseys 
 were fingered and turned over and then bought 
 up at different prices, the buyers forcing the bid« 
 ding just to amuse themselves. 
 
 Then came the turn of the small treasure-box^ 
 which was sold for fifty sous. The letters and 
 military medal had been taken out of it, to be 
 sent back to the family ; but not the book of M 
 songs and the work of Confucius, with the nee- 
 dles, cotton, and buttons, and all the petty requi* 
 sites placed there by the forethought of Granny 
 Moan for sewing and mending. 
 
 Then the quartermaster who held up the* 
 
 things to be sold drew out two small Buddhas, 
 
 taken in some pxagoda to give to Gaud, and so 
 
 funny were they that they were greeted with a 
 
 14a 
 
The Death-Blow 
 
 general burst of laughter, when they appeared as 
 the last lot. But the sailors laughed, not for 
 want of heart, but only through thoughtlessness. 
 
 To conclude, the bags were sold, and the 
 buyer immediately struck out the name on them 
 to substitute his own. 
 
 A careful sweep of the broom was afterward 
 given to clear the scrupulously clean deck of tiie 
 dust and odds and ends, while the sailors re» 
 turned merrily to play with their parrots and 
 monkeys. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 tHE DEATH-BLOW 
 
 One day, in the first fortnight of June, as oH 
 Yvonne was returning home, some neighbours 
 told her that she had been sent for>y the Com- 
 missioner from the Naval R^stry Office. Of 
 course it concerned her grandson, but that did 
 not frighten her in the least. The families of 
 seafarers are used to the Naval Registry, and 
 she, the daughter, wife, mother, and grandmother 
 of seamen, had known that office for the pa^ 
 sixty years. 
 
 Doubtless it had to do with his "delega- 
 tion '* I or perhaps there was a small prize-monejr 
 
 VOL. 20 143 Romances 8 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 account from La Circe to take through her 
 proxy. As she knew what respect was due to 
 " Monsieur le Commissaire^* she put on her best 
 gown and a clean white cap, and set out about 
 two o'clock. 
 
 Trotting along swiftly on the pathways of 
 the cliff, she neared Paimpol ; and musing upon 
 those two months without letters, she grew a bit 
 anxious. 
 
 She met her old sweetheart sitting out at his 
 door. He had greatly aged since the appearance 
 of the winter cold. 
 
 " Eh, eh ? When you're ready, you know, 
 don't make any ceremony, my beauty ! " That 
 " suit of deal " still haunted his mind. 
 
 The joyous brightness of June smiled around 
 her. On the rocky heights there still grew the 
 stunted reeds with their yellow blossoms; but 
 passing into the hollow no^oks sheltered against 
 the bitter sea winds, one met with high sweet- 
 smelling grass. But the poor old woman did not 
 see all this, over whose head so many rapid 
 seasons had passed, which now se^jned" as short 
 as days. 
 
 Around the crumbling hamlet with its gloomy 
 
 walls grew roses, pinks, and stocks ; and even up 
 
 on the tops of the whitewashed and mossy roofs, 
 
 144 
 
X 
 
 The Death Blow 
 
 sprang the flowerets that attracted the first 
 •' miller " butterflies of the season. 
 
 This spring-time was almost without love in 
 the land of the Icelanders, and the beautiful 
 lasses of proud race, who sa^ out dreaming on 
 their doorsteps, seemed to look far beyond the 
 visible things with their blue or brown eyes. 
 The young men, who were the objects of their 
 melancholy and desires, were remote, fishing on 
 the northern seas. 
 
 But it was a spring-time for all that — warm, 
 sweet, and troubling, with its buzzing of flies and 
 perfume of young plants. 
 
 And all this soulless freshness smiled upon 
 the poor old grandmother, who was quickly 
 walking along to hear of the death of her last- 
 born grandson. She neared the awful moment 
 when this event, which had taken place in the 
 so distant Chinese seas, was to be told to her ; 
 she was taking that sinister walk that Sylvestre 
 had divined at his death-hour — the sight of that 
 had torn his last agonized tears from him ; his 
 darling old granny summoned to Paimpol to be 
 told that he was dead ! Clearly he had seen her 
 pass along that road, running straight on, wi»;h 
 her tiny brown shawl, her umbrella, and lai^ 
 head-dress. And that apparition had made him 
 
 145 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 toss and writhe in fearful anguish, while the huge, 
 red sun of the Equator, disappearing in its glory, 
 peered through the port-hole of the hospital to 
 watch him die. But he, in his last hallucination, 
 had seen his old granny moving under a rain- 
 ladbn sky, and on the contrary a joyous laughing 
 spring-time mocked her on all sides. 
 
 Nearing Paimpol, she became more and more 
 uneasy, and improved her speed. Now she is ia 
 the gray town with its narrow granite streets, 
 where the sun falls, bidding good-day to some 
 other old women, her contemporaries, sitting at 
 their windows. Astonished to see her, they 
 said : " Wherever is she going so quickly, in her 
 Sunday gown, on a week-day ? " 
 
 "Monsieur le Commissaire" of the Naval 
 Enlistment Office was not in just then. One 
 ugly little creature, about fifteen years old, who 
 was his clerk, sat at his desk. As he was too 
 puny to be a fisher, he had received some educa- 
 tion and passed his time in that same chair, in 
 his black linen dust-sleeves, scratching away at 
 paper. 
 
 With a look of importance, when she had 
 said her name, he got up to get the official docu- 
 ments from off a shelf. 
 
 There were a great many papers — what did it - 
 146 
 
The Death-Blow 
 
 all mean ? Parchments, sealed papers, a sailor's 
 record-book, grown yellow on the sea, and over 
 all floated an odour of death. He spread them 
 all out before the poor old woman, who began to 
 tremble and feel dizzy. She had just recognised 
 two of the letters which Gaud used to write for 
 her to her grandson, and which were now re- 
 turned to her never unsealed. The same thing 
 had happened twenty years ago at the death of 
 her son Pierre ; the letters had been sent back 
 from China to " Monsieur le Commissaire," who 
 had given them to her thus. 
 
 Now he was reading out in a consequential 
 voice : " Moan, Jean-Marie-Sylvestre, registered 
 at Paimpol, folio 213, number 2091, died on 
 board the Bien Hoay on the 14th of '* 
 
 "What — what has happened him, my good 
 sir?" 
 
 ** Discharged— dead," he answered. 
 
 It wasn*t because this clerk was unkind, but 
 if he spoke in that brutal way, it was through 
 want of judgment, and from lack of intelligence 
 in the little incomplete being. 
 
 As he saw that she did not understand that 
 technical expression, he said in Breton : 
 
 *'Marw Sof' 
 
 •• Marw ^of* (He is dead.) 
 147 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 She repeated the words after him, in her aged 
 tremulous voice, as a poor cracked echo would 
 send back some indifferent phrase. So what she 
 had partly foreseen was true ; but it only made 
 her tremble ; now that it was certain, it seemed to 
 affect her no more. To begin with, her faculty 
 to suffer was slightly dulled by old age, especially 
 since this last winter. Pain did not strike her 
 immediately. Something seemed to fall upside 
 down in her brain, and somehow or another she 
 mixed this death up with others. She had lost 
 so many of them before. She needed a moment 
 to grasp that this was her very last one, her dar- 
 ling, the object of all her prayers, life, and waiting, 
 and of all her thoughts, already darkened by the 
 sombre approach of second childhood. 
 
 She felt a sort of shame at showing her de- 
 spair before this little gentleman who horrified her. 
 Was that the way to tell a grandmother of her 
 darling's death ? She remained standing before 
 the desk, stiffened, and tearing the fringes of her 
 brown shawl with her poor aged hands, sore and 
 chapped with washing. 
 
 How far away she felt from home ! Good- 
 ness ! what a long walk back to be gone through, 
 and steadily, too, before nearing the whitewashed 
 
 hut in which she longed to shut herself up, like a 
 
 148 
 
The Death-Blow 
 
 wounded beast who hides in its hole to die. And 
 so she tried not to think too much and not to 
 understand yet, frightened above all at the long 
 home-journey. 
 
 They gave her an order to go and take, as the 
 heiress, the thirty francs that came from the 
 sale of Sylvestre's bag ; and then the letters, the 
 certificates, and the box containing the military 
 medal. 
 
 She took the whole parcel awkwardly with 
 open fingers, unable to find pockets to put them in. 
 
 She went straight through Paimpol, looking 
 at no one, her body bent slightly like one about 
 to fall, with a rushing of blood in her ears ; press- 
 ing and hurrying along like some poor old ma- 
 chine, which could not be wound up, at a great 
 pressure, for the last time, without fear of break- 
 ing its springs. 
 
 At the third mile she went along quite bent in 
 two and exhausted ; from time to time her foot 
 struck against the stones, giving her a painful 
 shock up to the very head. She hurried to bury 
 herself in her home, for fear of falling and having 
 to be carried there. 
 
 14^ 
 
In the Shadow 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A CHARITABLE ASSUMPTION 
 
 " Old Yvonne's tipsy ! " was the cry. 
 
 She had fallen, and the street children ran 
 after her. It was just at the boundary of the 
 parish of Ploubazlanec, where many houses strag- 
 gle along the roadside. But she had the strength 
 to rise and hobble along on her stick. 
 
 " Old Yvonne's tipsy ! " 
 
 The bold little creatures stared her full in the 
 face, laughing. Her coiffe was all awry. Some of 
 these little ones were not really wicked, and these, 
 when they scanned her closer and saw the senile 
 grimace of bitter despair, turned aside, surprised 
 and saddened, daring to say nothing more. 
 
 At home, with the door tightly closed, she 
 gave vent to the deep scream of despair that 
 choked her, and fell down in a comer, her head 
 against the wall. Her cap had fallen over her 
 eyes ; she threw off roughly what formerly had 
 been so well taken care of. Her Sunday dress 
 was soiled, and a thin mesh of yellowish white 
 hair strayed from beneath her cap, completing her 
 pitiful, poverty-stricken disorder. 
 
 150 
 
The Comforter 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE COMFORTER 
 
 Thits did Gaud, coming in for news in the 
 evening, find her ; her hair dishevelled, her arms 
 hanging down, and her head resting against the 
 stone wall, with a falling jaw grinning, and the 
 plaintive whimper of a little child ; she scarcely 
 could weep any more ; these grandmothers, grown 
 too old, have no tears left in their dried-up 
 eyes. 
 
 " My grandson is dead ! " She threw the let- 
 ters, papers, and medal into her caller's lap. 
 
 Gaud quickly scanned the whole, saw the 
 news was true, and fell on her knees to pray. 
 The two women remained there together almost 
 dumb, through the June gloaming, which in Brit- 
 tany is long but in Iceland is never-ending. On 
 the hearth the cricket that brings joy was chirp- 
 ing his shrill music. 
 
 The dim dusk entered through the narrow 
 window into the dwelling of those Moans, who 
 had all been devoured by the sea, and whose 
 family was now extinguished. 
 
 At last Gaud said : *' Fll come to you, good 
 granny, to live with you ; I'll bring my bed that 
 
 151 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 they've left me, and I'll take care of you and 
 nurse you — ^you shan't be all alone." 
 
 She wept, too, for her little friend Sylvestre, 
 but in her sorrow she was led involuntarily to 
 think of another — he who had gone back to the 
 deep-sea fishery. 
 
 They would have to write to Yann and tell 
 him Sylvestre was dead ; it was just now that the 
 fishers were starting. Would he, too, weep for 
 him ? Mayhap he would, for he had loved him 
 dearly. In the midst of her own tears, Gaud 
 thought a great deal of him ; now and again 
 waxing wroth against that hard-hearted fellow, 
 end then pitying him at the thought of that pain 
 which would strike him also, and which would be 
 as a link between them both— one way and an- 
 other, her heart was full of him. 
 
 CHAPTER VUI 
 
 THE brother's GRIEF 
 
 One pale August evening, the letter that an- 
 nounced Yann's brother's death, at length arrived 
 on board the Marie, upon the Iceland seas; it 
 was after a day of hard work and excessive fatigue, 
 
 just as they were going down to sup and to rest 
 
 152 
 
The Brother's Grief 
 
 With eyes heavy with sleep, he read it in their 
 dark nook below deck, lit by the yellow beam of 
 the small lamp ; at the first moment he became 
 stunned and giddy, like one dazed out of fair 
 understanding. Very proud and reticent in all 
 things concerning the feelings was Yann, and he 
 hid the letter in his blue jersey, next his breast, 
 without saying anything, as sailors do. But he 
 did not feel the courage to sit down with the 
 others to supper, and disdaining even to explain 
 why, he threw himself into his berth and fell 
 asleep. Soon he dreamed of Sylvestre dead, and 
 of bis funeral going by. 
 
 Towards midnight, being in that state of mind 
 that is peculiar to seamen who are conscious of 
 the time of day in their slumber, and quite clearly 
 see the hour draw nigh when to awaken for the 
 watch — he saw the funeral, and said to himself : 
 " I am dreaming ; luckily the mate will come and 
 wake me up, and the vision will pass away." 
 
 But when a heavy hand was laid upon him 
 and a voice cried out : " Tumble out, Gaos ! watch, 
 hoy ! " he heard the slight rustling of paper at his 
 breast, a fine ghastly music that affirmed the fact 
 of the death. Yes, the letter ! It was true, then ? 
 The more cruel, heartrending impression deep- 
 ened, and he jumped up so quickly in his sudden 
 I I S3 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 start, that he struck his forehead against the over- 
 head beam. He dressed and opened the hatch- 
 way to go up mechanically and take bis place id 
 the fishing. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 WORK CURES SORROW 
 
 When Yann was on deck, he looked around 
 him with sleep-laden eyes, over the familiar circle 
 of the sea That night the illimitable immensity 
 showed itself in its most astonishingly simple as- 
 pects, in neutral tints, giving only the impression 
 «f depth. This horizon, which indicated no recog- 
 nisable region of the earth, or even any geological 
 age, must have looked so many times the same 
 since the origin of time, that, gazing upon it, one 
 saw nothing save the eternity of things that exist 
 and cannot help existing. 
 
 It was not the dead of night, for a patch of 
 light, which seemed to ooze from no particular 
 point, dimly lit up the scene. The wind sobbed 
 as usual its aimless wail. All was gray, a fickle 
 gray, which faded before the fixed gaze. The 
 sea, during its mysterious rest, hid itself under 
 feeble tints without a name. 
 
 Above floated scattered clouds ; they had as- 
 154 
 
Work Cures Sorrow 
 
 sumed various shapes, for, without form, things 
 cannot exist ; in the darkness they had blended 
 together, so as to form one single vast veiling. 
 
 But in one particular spot of the sky, low 
 down on the waters, they seemed a dark-veined 
 marble, the streaks clearly defined although very 
 distant ; a tender drawing, as if traced by some 
 dreamy hand — some chance effect, not meant to 
 be viewed for long, and indeed hastening to die 
 away. Even that alone, in the midst of this 
 broad grandeur, appeared to mean something; 
 (Hie might think that the sad, undefined thought 
 of the nothingness around was written there ; and 
 the sight involuntarily remained fixed upon it 
 
 Yann's dazzled eyes grew accustomed to the 
 outside darkness, and gazed more and more stead- 
 ily upon that veining in the sky ; it had now 
 taken the shape of a kneeling figure with arms out- 
 stretched. He began to look upon it as a human 
 shadow rendered gigantic by the distance itself. 
 
 In his mind, where his indefinite dreams and 
 primitive beliefs still lingered, the ominous shadow, 
 crushed beneath the gloomy sky, slowly coalesced 
 with the thought of his dead brother, as if it were 
 a last token from him. 
 
 He was used to such strange associations of 
 ideas, that thrive in the minds of children. But 
 
 »55 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 words, vague as they may be, are still too precise 
 to express those feelings ; one would need that 
 uncertain language that comes in dreams, of which 
 upon awakening, one retains merely enigmatical, 
 senseless fragments. 
 
 Looking upon the cloud, he felt a deep an- 
 guish, full of unknown mystery, that froze his 
 very soul ; he understood full well now that his 
 poor little brother would never more be seen ; 
 sorrow, which had been some time penetrating the 
 hard, rough rind of his heart, now gushed in and 
 brimmed it over. He beheld Sylvestre again 
 with his soft childish eyes; at the thought of^ 
 embracing him no more, a veil fell between his 
 eyelids and his eyes, against his will ; and, at first, 
 he could not rightly understand what it was — 
 never having wept in all his manhood. But the 
 tears began to fall heavily and swiftly down his 
 cheeks, and then sobs rent his deep chest. 
 
 He went on with his fishing, losing no time 
 and speaking to no one, and his two mates, though 
 hearing him in the deep silence, pretended not to 
 do so, for fear of irritating him, knowing him to 
 be so haughty and reserved. 
 
 In his opinion death was the end of all. Out 
 of respect he often joined in the family prayers 
 for the dead, but he believed in no after-life of 
 
 10 
 
Work Cures Sorrow 
 
 the soul.. Between themselves, in their long 
 talks, the sailors all said the same, in a blunt 
 taken-for-granted way, as a well-known fact ; but 
 it did not stop them from believing in ghosts, 
 having a vague fear of graveyards, and an un- 
 limited confidence in protecting saints and images, 
 and above ail a deep respect for the consecrated 
 earth around the churches. 
 
 So Yann himself feared to be swallowed up 
 by the sea, as if it would annihilate him, and the 
 thought of Sylvestre, so far away on the other 
 side of the eaith, made his sorrow more dark and 
 desperate. With his contempt for his fellows, 
 he had no shame or constraint in v/eeping, no 
 more than if he were alone. 
 
 Around the boat the chaos grew whiter, al- 
 though it was only two o'clock, and at the same 
 time it appeared to spread farther, hollowing in 
 8U fearful manner. With that kind of rising dawn, 
 eyes opened wider, and the awakened mind could 
 conceive better the immensity of distance, as the 
 boundaries of visible space receded and widened 
 away. 
 
 The pale aurora increased, seeming to come 
 in tiny jets with slight shocks ; eternal things 
 seemed to light up by sheer transparency, as if 
 white-flamed lamps had slowly been raised up be- 
 
 157 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 hind the shapeless gray clouds, and held there 
 with mysterious care, for fear of disturbing the 
 calm, even rest of the sea. Below the horizon 
 that colossal white lamp was the sun, which 
 dragged itself along without strength, before 
 taking its leisurely ascent, which began in the 
 dawn*s eye above the ocean. 
 
 On this day, the usual rosy tints were not 
 seen ; all remained pale and mournful. On board 
 the gray ship, Yann wept alone. The tears of 
 the fierce elder brother, together with the melan- 
 choly of this surrounding waste, were as mourn- 
 mg, worn in honour of the poor, obscure, young 
 hero, upon these seas of Iceland, where half his 
 life had been passed. 
 
 When the full light of day appeared, Yann 
 abruptly wiped his eyes with his sleeve and ceased 
 weeping. That grief was over now. He seemed 
 completely absorbed by the work of the fishery, 
 and by the monotonous routine of substantial 
 deeds, as if he never had thought of anything 
 else. 
 
 The catching went on apace, and there were 
 scant hands for the work. Around about the 
 fishers, in the immense depths, a transformation 
 scene was taking place. The grand opening out 
 of the infinitude, that great wonder of the morn- 
 
 158 
 
Work Cures Sorrow 
 
 ing, had finished; and the distance seemed to 
 diminish and close in around them. How was 
 it that before the sea had seemed so boundless ! 
 
 The horizon was quite near now, and more 
 space seemed necessary. The void filled in with 
 flecks and streamers that floated above, some 
 vague as mist, others wuth visibly jagged edges. 
 They fell softly amid an utter silence, like 
 snowy gauze, but fell on all sides together, so 
 that below them suffocation set in swiftly ; it 
 took away the breath to see the air so thickened. 
 
 It was the first of the August fogs that was 
 rising. Jn a few moments the winding-sheet be« 
 came universally dense ; all around the Marie a 
 white damp lay under the light, and in it the 
 mast faded and disappeared. 
 
 " Here's the cursed fog now, for sure," grum- 
 bled the men. They had long ago made the ac- 
 quaintance of that compulsory companion of the 
 second part of the fishing season ; but it also an- 
 nounced its end and the time for returning to 
 Brittany. 
 
 It condensed into fine, sparkling drops in their 
 beards, and shone upon their weather-beaten faceSe 
 Looking athwart ship to one another, they ap- 
 peared dim as ghosts ; and by comparison, nearer 
 objects were seen more clearly under the colour- 
 , 159 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 less light. They took care not to inhale the air too 
 deeply, for a feeling of chill and wet penetrated 
 the lungs. 
 
 But the fishing was going on briskly, so that 
 they had no time left to chatter, and they only 
 thought of their lines. Every moment big heavy 
 fish were drawn in on deck, and slapped down 
 with a smack like a whip-crack ; there they wrig- 
 gled about angrily, flapping their tails on the 
 deck, scattering plenty of sea-water about, and 
 silvery scales too, in the course of their death- 
 struggle. The sailor who split them open with 
 his long knife, sometimes cut his own fingers, in 
 his haste, so that his warm blood mingled with 
 the brine. 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE WHITE FOG 
 
 Caught in the fog, they remained ten days 
 in succession without being able to see anything. 
 The fishing went on handsomely the while, and 
 with so much to do there was no time for 
 weariness. At regular intervals one of them 
 blew a long fog-horn, whence issued a sound like 
 the howling of a wild beast. 
 
 Sometimes, out of the depths of white fog, 
 i6o 
 
The White Fog 
 
 another bellowing answered their call. Then a 
 sharper watch was kept. If the blasts were ap 
 proaching, all ears were turned in the direction 
 of that unknown neighbour, whom they might 
 perhaps never see, but whose presence was never- 
 theless a danger. Conjectures were made about 
 the strange vessel ; it became a subject of con- 
 versation, a sort of company for them ; all long- 
 ing to see her, strained their eyes in vain efforts 
 to pierce those impalpable white shrouds. 
 
 Then the mysterious consort would depart, 
 the bellowing of her trumpet fading away in the 
 distance, and they would remain again in the 
 deep hush, amid the infinity of stagnant vapour. 
 Everything was drenched with salt water ; the 
 cold became more penetrating ; each day the sun 
 took longer to sink below the horizon ; there 
 were now real nights one or two hours long, and 
 their gray gloaming was chilly and weird. 
 ^ Every morning they heaved the lead, through 
 fear that the Marie might have run too near the 
 Icelandic coast. But all the lines on board, fast- 
 ened end to end, were paid out in vain — the bot- 
 tom, could not be touched. So they knew that 
 they were well out in blue water. 
 
 Life on board was rough and wholesome ; the 
 
 comfort in the snug strong oaken cabin below 
 
 i6i 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 was enhanced by the impression of the piercing 
 cold outside, when they went down to supper or 
 for rest. 
 
 In the daytime, these men, who were as se- 
 cluded as monks, spoke but little among them- 
 selves. Each held his line, remaining for hours 
 and hours in the same immovable position. They 
 were separated by some three yards of space, but 
 it ended in not even seeing one another. 
 
 The calm of the fog dulled the mind. Fish- 
 ing so lonely, they hummed home songs, so as 
 not to scare the fish away. Ideas came more 
 slowly and seldom ; they seemed to expand, fiU- 
 mg in the space of time, without leaving any 
 vacuum. They dreamed of incoherent and mys- 
 terious things, as if in slumber, and the woof of 
 their dreams was as airy as fog itself. 
 
 This misty month of August usually termi- 
 nated the Iceland season, in a quiet, mournful 
 way. Otherwise the full physical life was the 
 same, filling the sailors' lungs with rustling air 
 and hardening their already strong muscles. 
 
 Yann's usual manner had returned, as if his 
 great grief had not continued ; watchful and 
 active, quick at his fishing work, a happy-go-lucky 
 temper, like one who had no troubles ; commu- 
 nicative at times, but very rarely — and always 
 
 162 
 
The Spectre Ship 
 
 carrying his head up high, with his old, indif- 
 ferent, domineering look. 
 
 At supper in the rough retreat, when they 
 were all seated at table, with their knives busy on 
 their hot plates, he occasionally laughed out as 
 he used to do at droll remarks of his mates. In 
 his inner self he perhaps thought of Gaud, to 
 whom, doubtless, Sylvestre had plighted him in 
 his last hours ; and she had become a poor girl 
 now, alone in the world. And above all, per- 
 haps, the mourning for his beloved brother still 
 preyed upon his heart. But this heart of his was 
 a virgin wilderness, difficult to explore and little 
 known, where many things took place unrevealed 
 on the exterior. 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE SPECTRE SHIP 
 
 One morning, going on three o'clock, while 
 all were dreaming quietly under their winding- 
 sheet of fog, they heard something like a clamour 
 of voices — voices whose tones seemed strange 
 and unfamiliar. Those on deck looked at each 
 other questioningly. 
 
 " Who's that talking ? " 
 
 Nobody. Nobody had said anything. For 
 163 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 that matter, the sounds had seemed to come from 
 the outer void. Then the man who had charge 
 of the fog-horn, but had been neglecting his duty 
 since overnight, rushed for it, and inflating his 
 lungs to their utmost, sounded with all his might 
 the long bellow of alarm. It was enough to 
 make a man of iron start, in such a silence. 
 
 As if a spectre had been evoked by that 
 thrilling, though deep-toned roar, a huge unfore- 
 seen gray form suddenly arose very loftily and 
 towered threateningly right beside them ; masts, 
 spars, rigging, all like a ship that had taken sud- 
 den shape in the air instantly, just as a single 
 beam of electric light evokes phantasmagoria on 
 the screen of a magic lantern. «^ 
 
 Men appeared, almost close enough to touch 
 them, leaning over the bulwarks, staring at them 
 with eyes distended in the awakening of surprise 
 and dread. 
 
 The Martens men rushed for oars, spars, boat- 
 hooks, anything they could lay their hands on 
 for fenders, and held them out to shove off that 
 grisly thing and its impending visitors. Lo ! 
 these others, terrified also, put out large beams 
 to repel them likewise. 
 
 But there came only a very faint creaking in 
 
 the topmasts, as both standing gears momentarily 
 
 i6/t 
 
The Spectre Ship 
 
 entangled became disentangled without the least 
 damage ; the shock, very gentle in such a calm, 
 had been almost wholly deadened ; indeed, it was 
 so feeble that it really seemed as if the other 
 ship had no substance, that it was a mere pulp, 
 almost without weight. 
 
 When the fright was over, the men began to 
 laugh ; they had recognised each other. 
 
 ** La Marie^ ahoy ! how are ye, lads ? " 
 
 " Halloa ! Gaos, Laumec, Guermeur ! ** 
 
 The spectre ship was the Retne-Berihe, also 
 of Paimpol, and so the sailors were from neigh- 
 bouring villages ; that thick, tall fellow with the 
 huge, black beard, showing his teeth when he 
 laughed, was Kerj^gou, one of the Ploudaniel 
 boys, the others were from Plounes or Ploun^rin, 
 
 " Why didn't you blow your fog-horn, and be 
 blowed to you, you herd of savages ? " challenged 
 Larvoer of the Reine-Berthe, 
 
 " If it comes to that, why didn't you blow 
 yours, you crew of pirates — ^you rank mess of 
 toad-fish ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! with us, d'ye see, the sea-law differs. 
 Were forbidden to make any noise / " 
 
 He made this reply with the air of giving a 
 dark hint, <ind a queer smile, which afterward 
 came back to the memory of the men of the 
 
 165 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 Marie, and caused them a great deal of thinking. 
 Then, as if he thought he had said too much, he 
 concluded with a joke : 
 
 "Our fog-horn, d'ye see, was burst by this 
 rogue here a-blowing too hard into it." He 
 pointed to a sailor with a face like a Triton, a 
 man all bull-neck and chest, extravagantly broad- 
 shouldered, low-set upon his legs, with something 
 unspeakably grotesque and unpleasant in th« de- 
 formity of strength. 
 
 While they were looking at each other, wait- 
 ing for breeze or undercurrent to move one ves- 
 sel faster than the other and separate them, a 
 general palaver began. Leaning over the side, 
 but holding each other off at a respectable dis- 
 tance with their long wooden props, like besieged 
 pikemen repelling an assault, they began to chat 
 about home, the last letters received, and sweet- 
 hearts and wives. 
 
 "I say ! my old woman," said Kerj^gou. 
 •• tells me she's had the little boy we were look- 
 ing for ; that makes half -score-two now ! " 
 
 Another had found himself the father of 
 
 twins; and a third announced the marriage of 
 
 pretty Jeannie CarofF, a girl well known to all 
 
 the Icelanders, with some rich and infirm old 
 
 resident of the Commune of Plourivo. As they 
 
 i66 
 
The Spectre Ship 
 
 were eyeing each other as if through white 
 gauze, this also appeared to alter the sound of 
 the voices, which came as if muffled and from 
 far away. 
 
 Meanwhile Yann could not take his. eyes off 
 one of those brother fishermen, a little grizzled 
 fellow, whom he was quite sure he never had 
 seen before, but who had, nevertheless, straight- 
 way said to him, '• How d'o, long Yann?" with 
 all the familiarity of bosom acquaintance. He 
 wore the provoking ugliness of a monkey, with 
 an apish twinkling of mischief too in his pierc- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 *'As for me," said LarvoSr, of the Reine* 
 Bert he, ** I've been told of the death of the 
 grandson of old Yvonne Moan, of Ploubazlanec 
 — who was serving his time in the navy, you 
 know, in the Chinese squadron — z. very great 
 pity." 
 
 On hearing this, all the men of La Marie 
 turned towards Yann to learn if he already knew 
 anything of the sad news. 
 
 " Ay," he answered in a low voice, but with 
 an indifferent and haughty air, " it was told me 
 in the last letter my father sent me." They still 
 kept on looking at him, curious at finding out 
 the secret of his grief, and it made him angry, 
 
 vo^- 20 167 Romances 9 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 These questions and answers were rapidly ex- 
 changed through the pallid mists, so the moments 
 of this peculiar colloquy skipped swiftly by. 
 
 " My wife wrote me at the same time," con- 
 tinued Larvoer, ** that Monsieur M^vel's daughter 
 has left the town to live at Ploubazlanec and take 
 care of her old grand-aunt — Granny Moan. She 
 goes out to needlework by the day now — to earn 
 her living. Anyhow, I always thought, I did, 
 that she was a good, brave girl, in spite of her fine- 
 lady airs and her furbelows." 
 
 Then again they all stared at Yann, which 
 made him still more angry ; a red flush mounted 
 to his cheeks, under their tawny tan. 
 
 With Larvoer's expression of opinion about 
 
 Gaud ended this parley with the crew of the 
 
 Reine-Berthe, none of whom were ever again to 
 
 be seen by human eyes. For a moment their 
 
 faces became more dim, their vessel being already 
 
 farther away ; and then, all at once, the men of 
 
 the Marie found they had nothing to push 
 
 against, nothing at the end of their poles — all 
 
 spars, oars, odds and ends of deck-lumber, were 
 
 groping and quivering in emptiness, till they fell 
 
 heavily, one after the other, down into the sea, 
 
 like their own arms, lopped off and inert. 
 
 They pulled all the useless defences on board 
 i68 
 
The Spectre Ship 
 
 The Reine-Berthe, melting away into the thick 
 fog, had disappeared as suddenly as a painted 
 ship in a dissolving view. They tried to hail 
 her, but the only response was a sort of mocking 
 clamour — as of many voices — ending in a moan, 
 that made them all stare at each other in sur- 
 prise. 
 
 This Reine-Berthe did not come back with 
 the other Icelandic fishers ; and as the men of 
 the Samuel-Azinide afterward picked up in 
 some fjord an unmistakable waif (part of her 
 taffrail with a bit of her keel), all ceased to hope ; 
 in the month of October the names of all her 
 crew were inscribed upon black slabs in the 
 church. 
 
 From the very time of that apparition — the 
 date of which was well remembered by the men 
 of the Marie — until the time of their return, 
 there had been no really dangerous weather on 
 the Icelandic seas, but a great storm from the 
 west had, three weeks before, swept several 
 sailors overboard, and swallowed up two vessels. 
 The men remembered Larvoer's peculiar smile, 
 and putting things together many strange con- 
 jectures were made. In the dead of night, Yann, 
 more than once, dreamed that he again saw the 
 
 sailor who blinked like an ape, and some of the 
 
 169 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 men of the Marie wondered if, on that remem- 
 bered morning, they had not been talking with 
 ghosts. 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE STRANGE COUPLE 
 
 Summer advanced, and, at the end of August, 
 with the first autumnal mists, the Icelanders 
 came home. 
 
 For the last three months the two lone 
 women had lived together at Ploubazlanec in the 
 Moans' cottage. Gaud filled a daughter's place in 
 the poor birthplace of so many dead sailors. She 
 had sent hither all that remained from the sale 
 of her father's house ; her grand bed in the town 
 fashion, and her fine, different coloured dresses. 
 She had made herself a plainer black dress, and 
 like old Yvonne, wore a mourning cap, of thick 
 white muslin, adorned merely with simple plaits. 
 Every day she went out sewing at the houses of 
 the rich people in the town, and returned every 
 evening without being detained on her way home 
 by any sweetheart. She had remained as proud 
 as ever, and was still respected as a fine lady ; and 
 as the lads bade her good-night, they always raised 
 a hand to their caps. 
 
 170 
 
The Strange Couple 
 
 Through the sweet evening twilight, she 
 walked home from Paimpol, all along the cliff 
 road inhaling the fresh, comforting sea air. Con- 
 stant sitting at needlework had not deformed her 
 like many others, who are always bent in two over 
 their work — and she drew up her beautiful supple 
 form perfectly erect in looking over the sea, fairly 
 across to where Yann was it seemed. 
 
 The same road led to his home. Had she 
 walked on much farther, towards a well-known 
 rocky windswept nook, she would come to that 
 hamlet of Pors-Even, where the trees, covered 
 with gray moss, grew crampedly between the 
 stones, and are slanted over lowly by the western 
 gales. Perhaps she might never more return 
 there, although it was only a league away ; but 
 once in her lifetime she had been there, and that 
 was enough to cast a charm over the whole road ; 
 and, besides, Yann would certainly often pass that 
 way, and she could fancy seeing him upon the 
 bare moor, stepping between the stumpy reeds. 
 
 She loved the whole region of Ploubazlanec, 
 and was almost happy that fate had driven her 
 there ; she never could have become resigned to 
 live in any other place. 
 
 Towards this end of August, a southern 
 
 warmth, diffusing languor, rises and spreads 
 
 171 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 towards the north, with luminous afterglows 
 and stray rays from a distant sun, which float 
 over the Breton seas. Often the air is calm and 
 pellucid, without a single cloud on high. 
 
 At the hour of Gaud's return journey, all 
 things had already begun to fade in the nightfall, 
 and become fused into close, compact groups. 
 Here and there a clump of reeds strove to make 
 way between stones, like a battle-torn flag ; in a 
 hollow, a cluster of gnarled trees formed a dark 
 mass, or else some straw-thatched hamlet indented 
 the moor. At the cross-roads the images of 
 Christ on the cross, which watch over and pro- 
 tect the country, stretched out their black arms 
 on their supports like real men in torture ; in the 
 distance the Channel appeared fair and calm, one 
 vast golden mirror, under the already darkened 
 sky and shade-laden horizon. 
 
 In this country even the calm fine weather 
 was a melancholy thing ; notwithstanding, a vague 
 uneasiness seemed to hover about ; a palpable 
 dread emanating from the sea to which so many 
 lives are intrusted, and whose everlasting threat 
 only slumbered. 
 
 Gaud sauntered along as in a dream, and 
 
 never found the way long enough. The briny 
 
 smell of the shore, and a sweet odour of flowerets 
 
 172 
 
The Strange Couple 
 
 growing along the cliffs amid thorny bushes, 
 perfumed the air. Had it not been for Granny 
 Yvonne waiting for her at home, she would have 
 loitered along the reed-strewn paths, like the 
 beautiful ladies in stories, who dream away the 
 summer evenings in their fine parks. 
 
 Many thoughts of her early childhood came 
 back to her as she passed through the country ; 
 but they seemed so effaced and far away now, 
 eclipsed by her love looming up between. 
 
 In spite of all, she went on thinking of Yann 
 as engaged in a degree — a restless, scornful be- 
 trothed, whom she never would really have, but 
 to whom she persisted in being faithful in mind, 
 without speaking about it to any one. For the 
 time, she was happy to know that he was off Ice- 
 land ; for there, at least, the sea would keep him 
 lonely in her deep cloisters, and he would belong 
 to no other woman. 
 
 True, he would return one of these days, but 
 she looked upon that return more calmly than 
 before.4 She instinctively understood that her 
 poverty would not be a reason for him to despise 
 her ; for he was not as other men. Moreover, 
 the death of poor Sylvestre would draw them 
 closer together. Upon his return, he could not 
 do otherwise than come to see his friend's old 
 
 173 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 granny ; and Gaud had decided to be present at 
 that visit ; for it did not seem to her that it would 
 be undignified. Appearing to remember nothing, 
 she would talk to him as to a long-known friend ; 
 she would even speak with affection, as was due 
 to Sylvestre's brother, and try to seem easy and 
 natural. And who knows? Perhaps it would 
 not be impossible to be as a sister to him, now 
 that she was so lonely in the world ; to rely upon 
 his friendship, even to ask it as a support, with 
 ijnough preliminary explanation for him not to 
 tccuse her of any after-thought of marriage. 
 
 She judged him to be untamed and stubborn 
 in his independent ideas, yet tender and loyal, 
 and capable of understanding the goodness that 
 comes straight from the heart. 
 
 How would he feel when he met her again, 
 in her poor ruined home ? Very, very poor she 
 was — for Granny Moan was not strong enough 
 now to go out washing, and only had her small 
 widow's pension left ; granted, she ate but little, 
 and the two could still manage to live, not de- 
 pendent upon others. 
 
 Night was always fallen when she arrived 
 home ; before she could enter she had to go 
 down a little over the worn rocks, for the cot- 
 tage was placed on an incline towards the beach, 
 
 174 
 
The Strange Couple 
 
 below the level of the Ploubazlanec roadside. It 
 was almost hidden under its thick brown straw 
 thatch, and looked like the back of some huge 
 beast, shrunk down under its bristling fur. Its 
 walls were sombre and rough like the rocks, but 
 with tiny tufts of green moss and lichens over 
 them. There were three uneven steps before the 
 threshold, and the inside latch was opened by a 
 length of rope-yarn run through a hole. Upon 
 entering, the first thing to be seen was the win- 
 dow, hollowed out through the wall as in the 
 substance of a rampart, and giving view of the 
 sea, whence inflowed a dying yellow light. On 
 the hearth burned brightly the sweet-scented 
 branches of pine and beechwood that old Yvonne 
 used to pick up along the way, and she herself 
 was sitting there, seeing to their bit of supper ; 
 indoors she wore a kerchief over her head to save 
 her cap. Her still beautiful profile was outlined 
 in the red flame of her fire. She looked up at 
 Gaud. Her eyes, which formerly were brown, 
 had taken a faded look, and almost appeared 
 blue ; they seemed no longer to see, and were 
 troubled and uncertain with old age. Each day 
 she greeted Gaud with the same words : 
 
 ** Oh, dear me ! my good lass, how late you 
 are to-night I " 
 
 1^5 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 **No, Granny," answered Gaud, who was 
 used to it. "This is the same time as other 
 days." 
 
 " Eh ? It seemed to me, dear, later than 
 usual." 
 
 They sat down to supper at their table, which 
 had almost become shapeless from constant use, 
 but was still thick as the generous slice of a huge 
 oak. The cricket began its silver-toned music 
 again. 
 
 One of the sides of the cottage was filled up 
 by roughly sculptured, worm-eaten woodwork, 
 which had an opening wherein were set the sleep- 
 ing bunks, where generations of fishers had been 
 born, and where their aged mothers had died. 
 
 Quaint old kitchen utensils hung from the 
 black beams, as well as bunches of sweet herbs, 
 wooden spoons, and smoked bacon ; fishing-nets, 
 which had been left there since the shipwreck of 
 the last Moans, their meshes nightly bitten by 
 the rats. 
 
 Gaud's bed stood in an angle under its white 
 muslin draperies ; it seemed like a very fresh and 
 elegant modem invention brought into the hut 
 of a Celt. 
 
 On the granite wall hung a photograph of 
 
 Svlvestre in his sailor clothes His grandmother 
 
 176 
 
Renewed Disappointment 
 
 had fixed his military medal to it, with his own 
 pair of those red cloth anchors that French men- 
 of-wars-men wear on their right sleeve ; Gaud 
 had also bought one of those funereal crowns, of 
 black and white beads, placed round the portraits 
 of the dead in Brittany. This represented Syl- 
 vestre's mausoleum, and was all that remained to 
 consecrate his memory in his own land. 
 
 On summer evenings they did not sit up late, 
 to save the lights ; when the weather was fine, 
 they sat out a while on a stone bench before the 
 door, and looked at passers-by in the road, a little 
 over their heads. Then old Yvonne would lie 
 down on her cupboard shelf ; and Gaud on her 
 fine bed, would fall asleep pretty soon, being 
 tired out with her day*s work, and walking, and 
 dreaming of the return of the Icelanders. Like 
 a wise, resolute girl, she was not too greatly 
 apprehensive. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 RENEWED DISAPPOINTMENT 
 
 But one day in Paimpol, hearing that La 
 Marie had just got in, Gaud felt possessed with 
 a kind of fever. All her quiet composure dis- 
 appeared ; she abruptly finished up her work^ 
 
 177 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 without quite knowing why, and set off home 
 sooner than usual. 
 
 Upon the road, as she hurried on, she recog- 
 nised him, at some distance off, coming towards 
 her. She trembled and felt her strength giving 
 way. He was now quite close, only about twenty 
 steps off, his head erect and his hair curling out 
 from beneath his fisher's cap. She was so taken 
 by surprise at this meeting, that she was afraid 
 she might fall, and then he would understand all; 
 she would die of very shame at it. She thought, 
 too, she was not looking well, but wearied by 
 the hurried work. She would have done any- 
 thing to be hidden away under the reeds or in 
 one of the ferret-holes. 
 
 He also had taken a backward step, as if to 
 turn in another direction. But it was too late 
 now. Both met in the narrow path. Not to 
 touch her, he drew up against the bank, with a 
 side swerve like a skittish horse, looking at her 
 in a wild, stealthy way. 
 
 She, too, for one half second looked up, and 
 
 in spite of herself mutely implored him, with an 
 
 agonized prayer. In that involuntary meeting 
 
 of their eyes, swift as the firing of a gun, these 
 
 gray pupils of hers had appeared to dilate and 
 
 light up with some grand noble thought, which 
 
 178 
 
Renewed Disappointment 
 
 flashed forth in a blue flame, while the blood 
 rushed crimson even to her temples beneath her 
 golden tresses. 
 
 As he touched his cap he faltered. "Wish 
 you good-day, Mademoiselle Gaud." 
 
 ** Good-day, Monsieur Yann," she answered. 
 
 That was all. He passed on. She went on 
 her way, still quivering, but feeling, as he disap- 
 peared, that her blood was slowly circulating again 
 and her strength returning. 
 
 At home, she found Granny Moan crouching 
 in a corner with her head held between her hands, 
 sobbing with her childish "he, he!" her hair 
 dishevelled and falling from beneath her cap like 
 thin skeins of gray hemp. 
 
 ** Oh, my kind Gaud I Fve just met young 
 Gaos down by Plouherzel as I came back from 
 my wood-gathering ; we spoke of our poor lad, 
 of course. They arrived this morning from Ice- 
 land, and in the afternoon he came over to see 
 me while I was out. Poor lad, he had tears in 
 his eyes, too. He came right up to my door, 
 my kind Gaud, to carry my little fagot." 
 
 She listened, standing, while her heart seemed 
 
 almost to break ; so this visit of Yann*s, upon 
 
 which she had so much relied for saying so many 
 
 things, was already over, and would doubtless 
 
 179 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 not occur again. It was all done. Her poor 
 heart seemed more lonely than ever, her misery- 
 harder, and the world more empty ; and she hung 
 her head with a wild desire to die. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE GRANDAM BREAKING UP 
 
 Slowly the winter drew nigh, and spread 
 over all like a shroud leisurely drawn. Gray 
 days followed one another, but Yann appeared 
 no more, and the two women lived on in their 
 loneliness. With the cold, their daily existence 
 became harder and more expensive. 
 
 Old Yvonne was difficult to tend, too ; her 
 poor mind was going. She got into fits of tem- 
 per now, and spoke wicked, insulting speeches 
 once or twice every week ; it took her so, like a 
 child, about mere nothings. 
 
 Poor old granny ! She was still so sweet in 
 her lucid days, that Gaud did not cease to re- 
 spect and cherish her. To have always been so 
 good and to end by being bad, and show towards 
 the close a depth of malice and spitefulness that 
 had slumbered during her whole life ; to use a 
 
 whole vocabulary of coarse words that she had 
 
 1 80 
 
The Grandam Breaking Up 
 
 hidden ; what mockery of the soul ! what a de- 
 risive mystery ! She began to sing, too, which 
 was still more painful to hear than her angry 
 words, for she mixed everything up together — 
 the oremus of a mass with refrains of loose songs 
 heard in the harbour from wandering sailors. 
 Sometimes she sang ^' Les Fillettes de Paimpol" 
 (The Lasses of Paimpol), or, nodding her head 
 and beating time with her foot, she would 
 mutter : 
 
 " Mon mari vient de partir ; 
 Pour la p^che d'Islande, mon mari vient de partir, 
 II m'a laissee sans le sou, 
 Mais — trala, trala la lou, 
 J 'en gagne, j'en gagne." * 
 
 She always stopped short, while her eyes 
 opened wide with a lifeless expression, like those 
 dying flames that suddenly flash out before fading 
 away. She hung her head and remained speech- 
 less for a great length of time, her lower jaw 
 dropping as in the dead. 
 
 One day she could remember nothing of her 
 grandson. " Sylvestre ? Sylvestre ?" repeated shej 
 
 * My husband went of! sailing 
 Upon the Iceland cruise ; 
 But never left me money, 
 Not e'en a couple sous. 
 But — ri too loo ! ri tooral loo ! 
 /know what to do ! 
 187 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 wondering whom Gaud meant ; ** oh ! my dear, 
 a'ye see, I've had so many of them, when I was^ 
 young, boys and girls together, that now I can't 
 remember their names ! " ^^ 
 
 So saying she threw up her poor wrinkled 
 hands, with a careless, almost contemptuous toss. 
 But the next day she remembered him quite 
 well ; mentioning several things he had said or 
 done, and that whole day long she wept. 
 
 Oh ! those long winter evenings when there 
 was not enough wood for their fire ; to work in 
 the bitter cold for one's daily bread, sewing hard 
 to finish the clothes brought over from Paimpol. 
 
 Granny Yvonne, sitting by the hearth, re- 
 mained quiet enough, her feet stuck in among 
 the smouldering embers, and her hands elapsed 
 beneath her apron. But at the beginning of the 
 evening. Gaud always had to talk to her to cheer 
 her a little. 
 
 " Why don't ye speak to me, my good girl ? 
 In my time I've known many girls who had 
 plenty to say for themselves. I don't think it 
 'ud seem so lonesome, if ye'd only talk a bit." 
 
 So Gaud would tell her chit-chat she had 
 
 heard in town, or spoke of the people she had 
 
 met on her way home, talking of things that 
 
 were quite indifferent to her, as indeed all things 
 
 182 
 
The Grandam Breaking Up 
 
 were now ; and stopping in the midst of her 
 stories when she saw the poor old woman was 
 falling asleep. 
 
 There seemed nothing lively or youthful 
 around her, whose fresh youth yearned for 
 youth. Her beauty would fade away, lonely and 
 barren. The wind from the sea came in from all 
 sides, blowing her lamp about, and the roar of the 
 waves could be heard as in a ship. Listening, 
 the ever-present sad memory of Yann came to 
 her, the man whose dominion was these bat- 
 thng elements ; through the long terrible nights, 
 when all things were unbridled and howling 
 in the outer darkness, she thought of him with 
 agony. 
 
 Always alone as she was, with the sleeping 
 old granny, she sometimes grew frightened and 
 looked in all dark; corners, thinking of the sail- 
 ors, her ancestors, who had lived in these nooks, 
 but perished in the sea on such nights as these. 
 Their spirits might possibly return ; and she did 
 not feel assured against the visit of the dead by 
 the presence of the poor old woman, who was 
 almost as one of them herself. 
 
 Suddenly she shivered from head to foot, as 
 she heard a thin, cracked voice, as if stifled under 
 the earth, proceed from the chimney comer. 
 
 183 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 In a chirping tone, which chilled her very 
 soul, the voice sang : 
 
 " Pour la p6che d'Islande, mon mari vient de partir-, 
 II m'a laiss^e sans le sou, 
 Mais — trala, trala la lou ! " 
 
 Then she was seized with that peculiar terror 
 that one has of mad people. 
 
 The rain fell with an unceasing, fountain-like 
 gush, and streamed down the walls outside. 
 There were oozings of water from the old moss- 
 grown roof, which continued dropping on the self- 
 same spots with a monotonous sad splash. They 
 even soaked through into the floor inside, which 
 was of hardened earth studded with pebbles and 
 shells. 
 
 Dampness was felt on all sides, wrapping 
 them up in its chill masses ; an uneven, buffet- 
 ing dampness, misty and dark, and seeming to 
 isolate the scattered huts of Ploubazlanec still 
 more. 
 
 But the Sunday evenings were the saddest of 
 all, because of the relative gaiety in other homes 
 on that day, for there are joyful evenings even 
 among those forgotten hamlets of the coast ; 
 here and there, from some closed-up hut, beaten 
 about by the inky rains, ponderous songs issued. 
 Within, tables were spread for drinkers ; sailors 
 
 184 
 
The Grandam Breaking Up 
 
 sat before the smoking fire, the old ones drinking 
 brandy and the young ones flirting with the girls ; 
 all more or less intoxicated and singing to deaden 
 thought. Close to them, the great sea, their 
 tomb on the morrow, sang also, filling the vacant 
 night with its immense profound voice. 
 
 On some Sundays, parties of young fellows 
 who came out of the taverns or back from Paim- 
 pol, passed along the road, near the door of the 
 Moans ; they were such as lived at the land's end 
 of Pors-Even way. They passed very late, caring 
 little for the cold and wet, accustomed as they 
 were to frost and tempests. Gaud lent her ear 
 to the medley of their songs and shouts — soon 
 lost in the uproar of the squalls or the breakers 
 — trying to distinguish Yann's voice, and then 
 feeling strangely perplexed if she thought she 
 had heard it. 
 
 It really was too unkind of Yann not to have 
 returned to see them again, and to lead so gay a 
 life so soon after the death of Sylvestre ; all this 
 was unlike him ! No, she really could not under- 
 stand him now, but in spite of all she could not 
 forget him or believe him to be without heart. 
 
 The fact was that since his return he had been 
 leading a most dissipated life indeed. Three or 
 four times, on the Ploubazlanec road, she had 
 
 185 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 seen him coming towards her, but she was al« 
 ways quick enough to shun him ; and he, too, 
 in those cases, took the opposite direction over 
 the heath. As if by a mutual understanding, 
 now, they fled from each other. 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE NEW SHIP 
 
 At Paimpol lives a large, stout woman 
 named Madame Tressoleur. In one of the 
 streets that lead to the harbour she keeps a 
 tavern, well known to all the Icelanders, where 
 captains and ship-owners come to engage their 
 sailors, and choose the strongest among them, 
 men and masters all drinking together. 
 
 At one time she had been beautiful, and was 
 still jolly with the fishers ; she has a mustache, 
 is as broad built as a Dutchman, and as bold 
 and ready of speech as a Levantine. There is 
 a look of the daughter of the regiment about 
 her, notwithstanding her ample nun-like mus- 
 lin headgear ; for all that, a religious halo of 
 its sort floats around her, for the simple reason 
 that she is a Breton born. 
 
 The names of all the sailors in the country 
 i86 
 
The New Ship 
 
 are written in her head as in a register; she 
 knows them all, good or bad, and knows exactly, 
 too, what they earn and what they are worth. 
 
 One January day. Gaud, who had been called 
 in to make a dress, sat down to work in a room 
 behind the tap-room. 
 
 To go into the abode of our Madame Tresso- 
 leur, you enter by a broad, massive-pillared door, 
 which recedes in the olden style under the first 
 floor. When you go to open this door, there is 
 always some obliging gust of wind from the 
 street that pushes it in, and the new-comers 
 make an abrupt entrance, as if carried in by a 
 beach roller. The hall is deep and low, is white- 
 washed, and is adorned by gilt frames, containing 
 pictures of ships and wrecks. In an angle a 
 china statuette of the Virgin is placed on a 
 bracket, between two bunches of artificial flowers. 
 
 These olden walls must have listened to many 
 
 powerful songs of sailors, and witnessed many 
 
 wild gay scenes, sinCv^ the first far-off days of 
 
 Paimpol — all through the lively times of the 
 
 privateers, up to these of the present Icelanders, 
 
 so very little different from their ancestors. 
 
 Many lives of men have been angled for and 
 
 hooked there, on the oaken tables, between two 
 
 drunken bouts. 
 
 187 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 While she was sewing the dress, Gaud lent 
 her ear to the conversation going on about Ice- 
 land, behind the partition, between Madame 
 Tressoleur and two old sailors, drinking. They 
 were discussing a new craft that was being rigged 
 in the harbour. She never would be ready for 
 the next season, so they said of this Liopoldine. 
 
 " Oh, yes, to be sure she will ! " answered the 
 hostess. ** I tell *ee the crew was all made up 
 yesterday — the whole of 'em out of the old Marie 
 of Guermeur's, that's to be sold for breaking up ; 
 five young fellows signed their engagement here 
 before me, at this here table, and with my own 
 pen — so ye see, I'm right! And fine fellows, 
 too, I can tell 'ee ; Laumec, Tugdual Caroff, 
 Yvon Duff, young Keraez from Tr6guier, and 
 long Yann Gaos from Pors-Even, who's worth 
 any three on 'em ! " 
 
 The Liopoldine / The half-heard name of the 
 ship that was to carry Yann away became sud- 
 denly fixed in her brain^ as if it had been ham- 
 mered in to remain more ineffaceably there. 
 
 At night back again at Ploubazlanec, and 
 
 finishing off her work by the light of her pitiful 
 
 lamp, that name came back to her mind, and its 
 
 very sound impressed her as a sad thing. The 
 
 names of vessels, as of things, have a significance 
 
 i88 
 
The New Ship 
 
 in themselves — almost a particular meaning of 
 their own. The new and unusual word haunted 
 her with an unnatural persistency, like some 
 ghastly and clinging warning. She had expected 
 to see Yann start off again on the Marie, which 
 she knew so well and had formerly visited, and 
 whose Virgin had so long protected its danger- 
 ous voyages ; and the change to the L^opoldine 
 increased her anguish. 
 
 But she told herself that that was not her 
 concern, and nothing about him ought ever to 
 affect her. After all, what could it matter to 
 her whether he were here or there, on this ship 
 or another, ashore or not ? Would she feel less 
 miserable with him back in Iceland, when the 
 summer would return over the deserted cottages, 
 and lonely anxious women — or when a new au- 
 tumn came again, bringing home the fishers once 
 more? All that was alike indifferent to her, 
 equally without joy or hope. There was no link 
 between them now, nothing ever to bring them 
 together, for was he not forgetting even poor little 
 Sylvestre? So, she had plainly to understand 
 that this sole dream of her life was over for ever ; 
 she had to forget Yann, and all things appertain- 
 ing to his existence, even the very name of Ice- 
 land, which still vibrated in her with so painful 
 
 i8$ 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 a charm — because of him all such thoughts must 
 be swept away. All was indeed over, for ever 
 and ever. 
 
 She tenderly looked over at the poor old 
 woman asleep, who still required all her atten- 
 tion, but who would soon die. Then, what 
 would be the good of living and working after 
 that ; of what use would she be ? 
 
 Out of doors, the western wind had again 
 risen ; and, notwithstanding its deep distant 
 soughing, the soft regular patter of the eaves- 
 droppings could be heard as they dripped from 
 the roof. And so the tears of the forsaken one 
 began to flow — ^tears running even to her lips to 
 impart their briny taste, and dropping silently on 
 ber work, like summer showers brought by no 
 breeze, but suddenly falling, hurried and heavy, 
 from the over-laden clouds; as she could no 
 longer see to work, and she felt worked out and 
 discouraged before this great hollowness of her 
 life, she folded up the extra-sized body of Ma- 
 dame Tressoleur and went to bed. 
 
 She shivered upon that fine, grand bed, for, 
 like all things in the cottage, it seemed also to 
 be getting colder and damper. But as she was 
 very young, although she still continued weeping, 
 k ended bv her growing warm and falling asleepi 
 
 190 
 
Lone and Lorn 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 LONE AND LORN 
 
 Other sad weeks followed on, till it was 
 early February, fine, temperate weather. Yann 
 had just come from his shipowner's, where he 
 had received his wages for the last summer's 
 fishery, fifteen hundred francs, which, according 
 to the custom of the family, he carried to his 
 mother. The catch had been a good one, and 
 he returned well pleased. 
 
 Nearing Ploubazlanec, he spied a crowd by 
 the side of the road. An old woman was ges- 
 ticulating with her stick, while the street boys 
 mocked and laughed around her. It was Granny 
 Moan. The good old granny whom Sylvestre 
 had so tenderly loved — her dress torn and be- 
 draggled — had now become one of those poor 
 old women, almost fallen back in second child- 
 hood, who are followed and ridiculed along their 
 roads. The sight hurt him cruelly. 
 
 The boys of Ploubazlanec had killed her cat, 
 and she angrily and despairingly threatened them 
 with her stick. " Ah, if my poor lad had only 
 been here ! for sure, you'd never dared do it, you 
 young rascals 1 " 
 
 VOL. 20 191 Romances 10 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 It appeared that as she ran after them to beat 
 them, she had fallen down ; her cap was awry, 
 and her dress covered with mud ; they called out 
 that she was tipsy (as often happens to those 
 poor old " grizzling " people in the country who 
 have met misfortune). 
 
 But Yann clearly knew that that was not 
 true, and that she was a very respectable old 
 woman, who only drank water. 
 
 " Aren*t you ashamed ? " roared he to the boys. 
 
 He was very angry, and his voice and tone 
 frightened them, so that in the twinkling of an 
 eye they all took flight, frightened and confused 
 before " Long Gaos." 
 
 Gaud, who was just returning from Paimpol, 
 
 bringing home her work for the evening, had 
 
 seen all this from afar, and had recognised Granny 
 
 in the group. She eagerly rushed forward to 
 
 learn what the matter was, and what they had 
 
 done to her; seeing the cat, she understood it 
 
 all. She lifted up her frank eyes to Yann, who 
 
 did not look aside ; neither thought of avoiding 
 
 each other now ; but they both blushed deeply 
 
 and they gazed rather startled at being so near 
 
 one another; but without hatred, almost with 
 
 affection, united as they were in this common 
 
 impulse of pity and protection. 
 
 1192 
 
Lone and Lorn 
 
 The school-children had owed a grudge to 
 the poor dead grimalkin for some time, because 
 he had a black, satanic look ; though he was really 
 a very good cat, and when one looked closely 
 at him, he was soft and caress-inviting of coat. 
 They had stoned him to death, and one of his 
 eyes hung out. The po6r old woman went on 
 grumbling, shaking with emotion, and carrying 
 her dead cat by the tail, like a dead rabbit. 
 
 " Oh, dear, oh, dear ! my poor boy, my poor 
 lad, if he were only here ; for sure, they'd never 
 dared a-do it." 
 
 Tears were falling down in her poor wrinkles ; 
 and her rough blue-veined hands trembled. 
 
 Gaud had put her cap straight again, and tried 
 to comfort her with soothing words. Yann was 
 quite indignant to think that little children could 
 be so cruel as to do such a thing to a poor aged 
 woman and her pet. Tears almost came into his 
 eyes, and his heart ached for the poor old dame 
 as he thought of Sylvestre, who had loved her so 
 dearly, and the terrible pain it would have been 
 to him to see her end thus, under derision and in 
 misery. 
 
 Gaud excused herself as if she were respon- 
 sible for her state. ** She must have fallen down," 
 she said in a low voice ; " 'tis true her dress isn't 
 
 193 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 new, for we're not very rich, Monsieur Yann ; 
 but I mended it again only yesterday, and this 
 morning when I left home I'm sure she was neat 
 and tidy." 
 
 He looked at her steadfastly, more deeply 
 touched by that simple excuse than by clever 
 phrases or self-reproaches and tears. Side by 
 side they walked on to the Moans' cottage. He 
 always had acknowledged her to be lovelier than 
 any other girl, but it seemed to him that she 
 was even more beautiful now in her poverty and 
 mourning. She wore a graver look, and her 
 gray eyes had a more reserved expression, and 
 nevertheless seemed to penetrate to the inner 
 depth of the soul. Her figure, too, was thor- 
 oughly formed. She was twenty-three now, in 
 the full bloom of her loveliness. She looked 
 like a genuine fisher's daughter, too, in her plain 
 black gown and cap ; yet one could not precisely 
 tell what gave her that unmistakable token of 
 the lady ; it was involuntary and concealed with- 
 in herself, and she could not be blamed for it ; 
 only perhaps her bodice was a trifle nicer fitting 
 than the others, though from sheer inborn taste, 
 and showed to advantage her rounded bust and 
 perfect arms. But, no ! the mystery was re- 
 vealed in her quiet voice and look. 
 
 194 
 
The Espousal 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE ESPOUSAL 
 
 It was manifest that Yann meant to accom- 
 pany them ; perhaps all the way home. They 
 walked on, all three together, as if following the 
 cat's funeral procession ; it was almost comical 
 to watch them pass; and the old folks on the 
 doorsteps grinned at the sight. Old Yvonne, in 
 the middle, carried the dead pet ; Gaud walked 
 on her right, trembling and blushing, and tall 
 Yann on the left, grave and haughty. 
 
 The aged woman had become quiet now; 
 she had tidied her hair up herself and walked 
 silently, looking alternately at them both from 
 the tail of her eyes, which had become clear 
 again. 
 
 Gaud said nothing for fear of giving Yann 
 the opportunity of taking his leave ; she would 
 have liked to feel his kind, tender eyes eternally 
 on her, and to walk along with her own closed 
 so as to think of nothing else ; to wander along 
 thus by his side in the dream she was weaving, 
 instead of arriving so soon at their lonely, dark 
 cottage, where all must fade away. 
 
 At the door occurred one of those moments 
 195 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 of indecision when the heart seems to stop beat' 
 ing. The grandam went in without turning 
 round, then Gaud, hesitating, and Yann, behind, 
 entered, too. 
 
 He was in their home for the first time in his 
 life — probably without any reason. What could 
 he want ? As he passed over the threshold he 
 touched his hat, and then his eyes fell and dwelt 
 upon Sylvestre's portrait in its small black-beaded 
 frame. He went slowly up to it, as to a tomb. 
 
 Gaud remained standing with her hands rest- 
 ing on the table. He looked around him ; she 
 watched him take a silent inspection of their 
 poverty. Very poor looked this cottage of the 
 two forsaken women. At least he might feel 
 some pity for her, seeing her reduced to this 
 misery inside its plain granite and whitewash. 
 Only the fine white bed remained of all past 
 splendour, and involuntarily Yann's eyes rested 
 there. 
 
 He said nothing. Why did he not go ? The 
 
 old grandmother, although still so sharp in her 
 
 lucid intervals, appeared not to notice him. How 
 
 odd ! So they remained over against one another, 
 
 seeming respectively to question with a yearning 
 
 desire. But the moments were flitting, and each 
 
 second seemed to emphasize the silence between 
 
 196 
 
The Espousal 
 
 them. They gazed at one another more and 
 more searchingly, as if in solemn expectation of 
 some wonderful, exquisite event, which was too 
 long in coming. 
 
 " Gaud," he began, in a low grave voice, " if 
 you're still of a mind now " 
 
 What was he going to say ? She felt instinc- 
 tively that he had suddenly taken a mighty reso- 
 lution — rapidly as he always did, but hardly dared 
 word it. 
 
 " If you be still of a mind — d'ye see, the fish 
 has sold well this year, and I've a little money 
 ahead " 
 
 " If she were still of a mind ! " What was he 
 asking of her ? Had she heard aright ? She 
 felt almost crushed under the immensity of what 
 she thought she premised. 
 
 All the while, old Yvonne, in her corner, 
 pricked up her ears, feeling happiness approach. 
 
 ** We could make a splice on it — a marriage, 
 right off. Mademoiselle Gaud, if you are still of 
 the same mind ? " 
 
 He listened here for her answer, which did 
 not come. What could stop her from pronounc- 
 ing that "yes?" He looked astonished and 
 frightened, she could see that. Her hands clutched 
 
 the table edge. She had turned quite white and 
 
 197 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 her eyes were misty ; she was voiceless, and 
 looked like some maid dying in her flower. 
 
 "Well, Gaud, why don't you answer ?** said 
 Granny Yvonne, who had risen and come towards 
 them. •• Don't you see, it rather surprises her, 
 Monsieur Yann. You must excuse her. She'll 
 think it over and answer you later on. Sit you 
 down a bit. Monsieur Yann, and take a glass of 
 cider with us." 
 
 It was not surprise, but ecstasy that pre- 
 vented Gaud from answering; no words at all 
 came to her relief. So it really was true that he 
 was good and kind-hearted. She knew him 
 aright — ^the same true Yann, her own, such as 
 she never had ceased to see him, notwithstand- 
 ing his sternness and his rough refusal. For a 
 long time he had disdained her, but now he ac- 
 cepted her, although she was poor. No doubt it 
 had been his wish all through ; he may have had 
 a motive for so acting, which she would know 
 hereafter ; but, for the present, she had no inten- 
 tion of asking him his meaning, or of reproach- 
 ing him for her two years of pining. Besides, 
 all that was past, ay, and forgotten now ; in one 
 single moment everything seemed carried away 
 before the delightful whirlwind that swept ovei 
 her life ! 
 
 198 
 
The Espousal 
 
 Still speechless, she told him of her great 
 love and adoration for him by her sweet brim- 
 ming eyes alone ; she looked deeply and 
 steadily at him, while the copious shower of 
 happy tears poured adown her roseate cheeks. 
 " Well done ! and God bless you, my chil- 
 dren," said Granny Moan. ** It*s thankful I be 
 to Him, too, for I'm glad to have been let grow 
 so old to see this happy thing afore I go." 
 
 Still there they remained, standing before 
 one another with clasped hands, finding no 
 words to utter ; knowing of no word sweet 
 enough, and no sentence worthy to break that 
 exquisite silence. 
 
 ** Why don't ye kiss one another, my chil- 
 dren ? Lor* ! but they're dumb ! Dear me, 
 what strange grandchildren I have here ! 
 Pluck up. Gaud ; say some'at to him, my 
 dear. In my time lovers kissed when they 
 plighted their troth." 
 
 Yann raised his hat, as if suddenly seized 
 with a vast, heretofore unfelt reverence, before 
 bending down to kiss Gaud. It seemed to him 
 that this was the first kiss worthy of the name 
 he ever had given in his life. 
 
 She kissed him also, pressing her fresh 
 lips, unused to refinements of caresses, with 
 her whole heart, to his sea bronzed cheek. 
 
 199 
 
In the Shadow 
 
 Among the stones the cricket sang of happi- 
 ness, being right for this time. And Sylvestre*s 
 pitiful insignificant portrait seemed to smile on 
 them out of its black frame. All things, in fact, 
 seemed suddenly to throb with life and with joy 
 in the blighted cottage. The very silence appar- 
 ently burst into exquisite music ; and the pale 
 winter twilight, creeping in at the narrow win- 
 dow, became a wonderful, unearthly glow. 
 
 ** So we'll go to the wedding when the Ice- 
 landers return ; eh, my dear children ? " 
 
 Gaud hung her head. " Iceland," the " Lio- 
 poldine " — so it was all real ! while she had al- 
 ready forgotten the existence of those terrible 
 things that arose in their way. 
 
 "When the Icelanders return." 
 
 How long that anxious summer waiting would 
 seem ! 
 
 Yann drummed on the floor with his foot 
 feverishly and rapidly. He seemed to be in a 
 great hurry to be oif and back, and was telling 
 the days to know if, without losing time, they 
 would be able to get married before his sailing. 
 So many days to get the official papers filled and 
 signed ; so many for the banns : that would only 
 bring them up to the twentieth or twenty-fifth 
 of the month for the wedding, and if nothing 
 
 200 ^ 
 
The Espousal 
 
 rose in the way, they could have a whole honey- 
 moon week together before he sailed. 
 
 "Fm going to start by telling my father/' 
 said he, with as much haste as if each moment 
 of their lives were now numbered and precious. 
 
 301 
 
PART IV 
 YANN'S FIRST WEDDING 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 THE COURTING BY THE SEA 
 
 All sweethearts like to sit on the bench at 
 their cottage door, when night falls. 
 
 Yann and Gaud did that likewise. Every 
 evening they sat out together before the Moans* 
 cottage, on the old granite seat, and talked love. 
 
 Others have the spring-time, the soft shadow 
 of the trees, balmy evenings, and flowering rose- 
 bushes; they had only the February twilight, 
 which fell over the sea-beaten land, strewn with 
 eel-grass and stones. There was no branch of 
 verdure above their heads or around them ; noth- 
 ing but the immense sky, over which passed the 
 slowly wandering mists. And their flowers were 
 brown sea-weeds, drawn up from the beach by 
 the fishers, as they dragged their nets along. 
 
 The winters are not very severe in this part 
 
 of the country, being tempered by currents of 
 
 the sea ; but, notwithstanding that, the gloaming 
 
 was often laden with invisible icy rain, which fell 
 
 upon their shoulders as they sat together. But 
 
 205 
 
Yann's First Wedding 
 
 they remained there, feeling warm and happy. 
 The bench, which was more than a hundred years 
 old, did not seem in the least surprised at their 
 love, having seen many other pairs in its time ; 
 it had listened to many soft words, which are 
 always the same on the lips of the young, from 
 generation to generation; and it had become 
 used to seeing lovers sit upon it again, when they 
 returned to it old and trembling; but in the 
 broad day, this time, to warm themselves in the 
 last sun they would see. 
 
 From time to time Granny Moan would put 
 her head out at the door to have a look at them, 
 and try to induce them to come in. ** You'll 
 catch cold, my good children," said she, **and 
 then you'll fall ill — Lord knows, it really isn't 
 sensible to remain out so late." 
 
 Cold ! they cold ? Were they conscious of 
 anything else besides the bliss of being together ? 
 
 The passers-by in the evening down their 
 
 pathway, heard the soft murmur of two voices 
 
 mingling with the voice of the sea, down 
 
 below at the foot of the cliffs. It was a most 
 
 harmonious music ; Gaud's sweet, fresh voice 
 
 alternated with Yann's, which had soft, caressing 
 
 notes in the lower tones. Their profiles could 
 
 be clearly distinguished on the granite wall 
 
 206 
 
The Seaman's Secret 
 
 against which they reclined ; Gaud with her 
 white headgear and slender black-robed figure, 
 and beside her the broad, square shoulders of her 
 beloved. Behind and above rose the ragged 
 dome of the straw thatch, and the darkening, 
 infinite, and colourless waste of the sea and sky 
 floated over all. 
 
 Finally, they did go in to sit down by the 
 hearth, whereupon old Yvonne immediately nod- 
 ded off to sleep, and did not trouble the two 
 lovers very much. So they went on communing 
 in a low voice, having to make up for two years 
 of silence ; they had to hurry on their courtship 
 because it was to last so Short a time. 
 
 It was arranged that they were to live with 
 Granny Moan, who would leave them the cot- 
 tage in her will ; for the present, they made no 
 alterations in it, for want of time, and put off 
 their plan for embellishing their poor lonely 
 home until the fisherman's return from Iceland 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE seaman's secret 
 
 One evening Yann amused himself by re- 
 lating to his affianced a thousand things she had 
 
 207 
 
Yann's First Wedding 
 
 done, or which had happened to her since their 
 first meeting ; he even enumerated to her the 
 different dresses she had had, and the jollifica- 
 tions to which she had been. 
 
 She listened in great surprise. How did he 
 know all this ? Who would have thought of a 
 man ever paying any attention to such matters, 
 and being capable of remembering so clearly ? 
 
 But he only smiled at her in a mysterious 
 way, and went on mentioning other facts to her 
 that she had altogether forgotten. 
 
 She did not interrupt him ; nay, she but let 
 him continue, while an unexpected delicious joy 
 welled up in her heart ; she began, at length, to 
 divine and understand everything. He, too, had 
 loved — loved her, through that weary time. She 
 had been his constant thought, as he was guile- 
 lessly confessing. But, in this case, what had 
 been his reason for repelling her at first and 
 making her suffer so long ? 
 
 There always remained this mystery that he 
 had promised to explain to her — ^yet still seemed 
 to elude — with a confused, incomprehensible 
 smile. 
 
 208 
 
The Ominous Wedding-Dress 
 
 ^ CHAPTER III 
 
 THE OMINOUS WEDDING-DRESS 
 
 One fine day, the loving pair went over to 
 Paimpol, with Granny Moan, to buy the wed- 
 ding-dress. 
 
 Gaud could very easily have done over one 
 of her former town-lady's dresses for the occa- 
 sion. But Yann had wanted to make her this 
 present, and she had not resisted too long the 
 having a dress given by her betrothed, and paid 
 for by the money he had earned at his fishing ; 
 it seemed as if she were already his wife by this 
 act. 
 
 They chose black, for Gaud had not yet left 
 off mourning for her father ; but Yann did not 
 find any of the stuffs they placed before them 
 good enough. He was not a little overbearing 
 with the shopman ; he, who formerly never would 
 have set his foot inside a shop, wanted to man- 
 age everything himself, even to the very fashion 
 of the dress. He wished it adorned with broad 
 bands of velvet, so that it would be very fine, in. 
 his mind. 
 
 209 
 
Yann's First Wedding 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 FLOWER OF THE THORN 
 
 One evening as these lovers sat out on their 
 stone bench in the solitude over which the night 
 fell, they suddenly perceived a hawthorn bush, 
 which grew solitarily between, the rocks, by the 
 side of the road, covered with tiny flowered tufts. 
 
 " It looks as if 'twas in bloom," said Yann. 
 
 They drew near to inspect it. It was in full 
 flower, indeed. As they could not see very well 
 in the twilight, they touched the tiny blooms, 
 wet with mist. Then the first impression of 
 spring came to them at the same time they 
 noticed this ; the days had already lengthened, 
 the air was warmer, and the night more lumi- 
 nous. But how forward this particular bush was ! 
 They could not find another like it anywhere 
 around, not one ! It had blossomed, you see, 
 expressly for them, for the celebration of their 
 loving plight. 
 
 " Oh ! let us gather some more," said Yann. 
 
 Groping in the dark, he cut a nosegay with 
 the stout sailor's knife that he always wore in his 
 belt, and paring off all the thorns, he placed it 
 in Gaud's bosom. 
 
 2IO 
 
Flower of the Thorn 
 
 " You look like a bride now," said he, step- 
 ping back to judge of the effect, notwithstand- 
 ing the deepening dusk. 
 
 At their feet the calm sea rose and fell over 
 the shingle with an intermittent swash, regular 
 as the breathing of a sleeper ; for it seemed in- 
 different or ever favourable to the love-making 
 going on hard by. 
 
 In expectation of these evenings the days 
 appeared long to them, and when they bade 
 each other good-bye at ten o'clock, they felt a 
 kind of discouragement, because it was all so 
 soon over. 
 
 They had to hurry with the official docu- 
 ments for fear of not being ready in time, and of 
 letting their happiness slip by until the autumn, 
 or even uncertainty. 
 
 Their evening courtship in that mournful 
 spot, lulled by the continual even wash of the 
 sea, with that feverish impression of the flight of 
 time, was almost gloomy and ominous. They 
 were like no lovers ; more serious and restless 
 were they in their love than the common run. 
 
 Yet Yann never told her what mysterious 
 thing had kept him away from her for these two 
 lonely years ; and after he returned home of a 
 night, Gaud grew uneasy as before, although hs 
 
 211 
 
Yann's First Wedding 
 
 loved her perfectly — this she knew. It is true 
 that he had loved her all along, but not as now ; 
 love grew stronger in his heart and mind, like a 
 tide rising and overbrimming. He never had 
 known this kind of love before. 
 
 Sometimes on their stone seat he lay down, 
 resting his head in Gaud*s lap like a caressing 
 child, till, suddenly remembering propriety, he 
 would draw himself up erect. He would have 
 liked to lie on the very ground at her feet, 
 and remain there with his brow pressed to the 
 hem of her garments. Excepting the brotherly 
 kiss he gave her when he came and went, he did 
 not dare to embrace her. He adored that in- 
 visible spirit in her, which appeared in the very 
 sound of her pure, tranquil voice, the expression 
 of her smile, and in her clear eye. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE COST OF OBSTINACY 
 
 One rainy evening they were sitting side by 
 ade near the hearth, and Granny Moan was 
 asleep opposite them. The fire flames, dancing 
 over the branches on the hearth^ projected their 
 magnified shadows on the beams overhead 
 
 212 
 
The Cost of Obstinacy 
 
 They spoke to one another in that low voice 
 of all lovers. But upon this particular evening 
 their conversation was now and again broken by 
 long troubled silence. He, in particular, said 
 very little and lowered his head with a faint 
 smile, avoiding Gaud's inquiring eyes. For she 
 had been pressing him with questions all the 
 evening concerning that mystery that he posi- 
 tively would not divulge ; and this time he felt 
 himself cornered. She was too quick for him, 
 and had fully made up her mind to learn ; no 
 possible shifts could get him out of telling her 
 now. 
 
 " Was it any bad tales told about me ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 He tried to answer " yes," and faltered : 
 **Oh! there was always plenty of rubbish bab- 
 bled in Paimpol and Ploubazlanec." 
 
 She asked what, but he could not answer 
 
 her ; so then she thought of something else. 
 
 " Was it about my style of dress, Yann ? " 
 
 I Yes, of course, that had had something to do 
 
 with it ; at one time she had dressed too grandly 
 
 to be the wife of a simple fisherman. But 
 
 he was obliged to acknowledge that that was 
 
 not all. 
 
 " Was it because at that time wc passed for 
 213 
 
Yann's First Wedding 
 
 very rich people, and you were afraid of being 
 refused ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! not that" He said this with such 
 simple confidence that Gaud was amused. 
 
 Then fell another silence, during which the 
 moaning of the sea-winds was heard outside. 
 Looking attentively at him, a fresh idea struck 
 her, and her expression changed. 
 
 " If not anything of that sort, Yann, what 
 was it ? " demanded she, suddenly, looking at him 
 fair in the eyes, with the irresistible questioning 
 look of one who guesses the truth, and could dis- 
 pense with confirmation. 
 
 He turned aside, laughing outright. 
 
 So at last she had, indeed, guessed aright ; he 
 never could give her a real reason, because there 
 was none to give. He had simply " played the 
 mule " (as Sylvestre had said long ago). But 
 everybody had teased him so much about that 
 Gaud, his parents, Sylvestre, his Iceland mates, 
 and even Gaud herself. Hence he had stubbornly 
 said ** no," but knew well enough in the bottom 
 of his heart that when nobody thought any more 
 about the hollow mystery it would become "yes." 
 
 So it was on account of Yann*s childishness 
 that Gaud had been languishing, forsaken for 
 two long years, and had longed to die. 
 
 214 
 
The Cost of Obstinacy 
 
 At first Yann laughed, but now he looked at 
 Gaud with kind eyes, questioning deeply. Would 
 she forgive him ? He felt such remorse for hav- 
 ing made her suffer. Would she forgive him ? 
 
 " It's my temper that does it, Gaud," said he. 
 ** At home with my folk, it's the same thing. 
 Sometimes, when I'm stubborn, I remain a whole 
 week angered against them, without speaking to 
 anybody. Yet you know how I love them, and 
 I always end by doing what they wish, like a 
 boy. If you think that I was happy to live 
 unmarried, you're mistaken. No, it couldn't 
 have lasted anyway. Gaud, you may be sure." 
 
 Of course, she forgave him. As she felt the 
 soft tears fall, she knew they were the outflow 
 of her last pangs vanishing before Yann's con- 
 fession. Besides, the present never would have 
 been so happy without all her suffering; that 
 being over, she was almost pleased at having 
 gone through that time of trial. 
 
 Everything was finally cleared up between 
 them, in a very unexpected though complete 
 manner ; there remained no clouds between their 
 souls. He drew her towards him, and they re- 
 mained some time with their cheeks pressed 
 close, requiring no further explanations. So 
 chaste was their embrace, that the old grandam 
 
 VOL. 20 215 Romances 11 
 
Yann's First Wedding 
 
 suddenly awaking, they remained before her as 
 they were without any confusion or embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE BRIDAL 
 
 It was six days before the sailing for Iceland. 
 Their wedding procession was returning from 
 Ploubazlanec Church, driven before a furious 
 wind, under a sombre, rain-laden sky. 
 
 They looked very handsome, nevertheless, as 
 they walked along as in a dream, arm-in-arm, like 
 king and queen leading a long cortege. Calm, 
 reserved, and grave, they seemed to see nothing 
 about them ; as if they were above ordinary life 
 and everybody else. The very wind seemed to 
 respect them, while behind them their ** train " 
 was a jolly medley of laughing couples, tum- 
 bled and buffeted by the angry western gale. 
 
 Many people were present, overflowing with 
 
 young life ; others turning gray, but these still 
 
 smiled as they thought of their wedding-day and 
 
 younger years. Granny Yvonne was there and 
 
 following, too, panting a little, but something 
 
 like happy, hanging on the arm of an old uncle 
 
 of Yann's, who was paying her old-fashioned 
 
 216 
 
The Bridal 
 
 compliments. She wore a grand new cap, bought 
 for the occasion, and her tiny shawl, which had 
 been dyed a third time, and black, because of 
 Sylvestre. 
 
 The wind worried everybody ; dresses and 
 skirts, bonnets and coiffes, were similarly tossed 
 about mercilessly. 
 
 At the church door, the newly married couple, 
 pursuant to custom, had bought two nosegays of 
 artificial flowers, to complete their bridal attire, 
 Yann had fastened his on anyhow upon his broad 
 chest, but he was of those men whom anything 
 becomes. As for Gaud, there was still something 
 of the lady about the manner in which she had 
 placed the rude flowers in her bodice, as of old 
 very close fitting to her unrivalled form. 
 
 The violin player, who led the whole band, 
 
 bewildered by the wind, played at random ; his 
 
 tunes were heard by fits and starts betwixt the 
 
 noisy gusts, and rose as shrill as the screaming of 
 
 a sea-gull. All Ploubazlanec had turned out to 
 
 look at them. This marriage seemed to excite 
 
 people's sympathy, and many had come from 
 
 far around ; at each turn of the road there were 
 
 groups stationed to see them pass. Nearly all 
 
 Yann*s mates, the Icelanders of Paimpol, were 
 
 there. They cheered the bride and bridegroom 
 
 217 
 
Yann's First Wedding 
 
 as they passed ; Gaud returned their greeting, bow- 
 ing slightly like a town lady, with serious grace ; 
 and all along the way she was greatly admired. 
 
 The darkest and most secluded hamlets 
 around, even those in the woods, had been 
 emptied of all their beggars, cripples, wastrels, 
 poor, and idiots on crutches ; these wretches 
 scattered along the road, with accordions and 
 hurdy-gurdies ; they held out their hands and 
 hats to receive the alms that Yann threw to 
 them with his own noble look and Gaud with 
 her beautiful queenly smile. Some of these poor 
 waifs were very old and wore gray locks on heads 
 that had never held much ; crouching in the hol- 
 lows of the roadside, they were of , the same 
 colour as the earth from which they seemed to 
 have sprung, but so unformed as soon to be 
 returned without ever having had any human 
 thoughts. Their wandering glances were as in- 
 decipherable as the mystery of their abortive and 
 useless existences. Without comprehending, they 
 looked at the merrymakers' line pass by. It 
 went on beyond Pors-Even and the Gaoses* 
 home. They meant to follow the ancient bridal 
 tradition of Ploubazlanec and go to the chapel of 
 La Trinity, which is situated at the very end of 
 
 the Breton country. 
 
 218 
 
The Bridal 
 
 At the foot of the outermost cliff, it rests on 
 a threshold of low-lying rocks close to the water, 
 and seems almost to belong to the sea already. 
 A narrow goat's path leads down to it through 
 masses of granite. 
 
 The wedding party spread over the incline of 
 the forsaken cape head ; and among the rocks 
 and stones, happy words were lost in the roar of 
 the wind and the surf. 
 
 It was useless to try and reach the chapel ; in 
 this boisterous weather the path was not safe, the 
 sea came too close with its high rollers. Its 
 white-crested spouts sprang up in the air, so as 
 to break over everything in a ceaseless shower. 
 
 Yann, who had advanced the farthest with 
 Gaud on his arm, was the first to retreat before 
 the spray. Behind, his wedding party had re- 
 mained strewn about the rocks, in a semicircle ; 
 it seemed as if he had come to present his wife 
 to the sea, which received her with scowling, ill- 
 boding aspect. 
 
 Turning round, he caught sight of the vio- 
 linist perched on a gray rock, trying vainly to 
 play his dance tunes between gusts of wind. 
 
 " Put up your music, my lad," said Yann ; 
 " old Neptune is playing us a livelier tune than 
 yours." 
 
 219 
 
Yann*s First Wedding 
 
 A heavily beating shower, which had threat- 
 ened since morning, began to fall. There was a 
 mad rush then, accompanied by outcries and 
 laughter, to climb up the bluff and take refuge 
 at the Gaoses*. 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE DISCORDANT NOTE 
 
 The wedding breakfast was given at Yann's 
 parents', because Gaud's home was so poor. It 
 took place upstairs in the great new room. Five- 
 and-twenty guests sat down round the newly mar- 
 ried pair — sisters and brothers, cousin Gaos the 
 pilot, Guermeur, Keraez, Yvon Duff, all of the 
 old Marie's crew, who were now the Liopoldine's \ 
 four very pretty bridesmaids, with their hair-plaits 
 wound round their ears, like the empresses' in an- 
 cient Byzantium, and their modern white caps, 
 shaped like sea-shells ; and four best men, all 
 broad-shouldered Icelanders, with large proud 
 eyes. 
 
 Downstairs, of course, there was eating and 
 cooking going on ; the whole train of the wed- 
 ding procession had gathered there in disorder ; 
 and the extra servants, hired from Paimpol, well- 
 nigh lost their senses before the mighty lumbcr- 
 
 220 
 
The Discordant Note 
 
 ing up of the capacious hearth with pots and 
 pans. 
 
 Yann's parents would have wished a richer 
 wife for their son, naturally, but Gaud was known 
 now as a good, courageous girl ; and then, in 
 spite of her lost fortune, she was the greatest 
 beauty in the country, and it flattered them to 
 see the couple so well matched. 
 
 The old father was inclined to be merry after 
 the soup, and spoke of the bringing up of his 
 fourteen little Gaoses ; but they were all doing 
 well, thanks to the ten thousand francs that had 
 made them well off. 
 
 Neighbour Guermeur related the tricks he 
 played in the navy, yarns about China, the West 
 Indies, and Brazil, making the young ones who 
 would be off some day, open their eyes in won- 
 derment. 
 
 " There is a cry against the sea-service," said 
 the old sailor, laughing, " but a man can have 
 fine fun in it." 
 
 The weather did not clear up ; on the con- 
 trary, the wind and rain raged through the 
 gloomy night ; and in spite of the care taken, 
 some of the guests were fidgety about their 
 smacks anchored in the harbour, and spoke of 
 getting up to go and see if all was right. But 
 
 221 
 
Yann's First Wedding 
 
 here a more jovial sound than ever was heard 
 from downstairs, where the younger members of 
 the party were supping together ; cheers of joy 
 and peals of laughter ascended. The little cous- 
 ins were beginning to feel exhilarated by the 
 cider. 
 
 Boiled and roasted meats had been served up 
 with poultry, different kinds of fish, omelets and 
 pancakes. 
 
 The debate had turned upon fishery and 
 smuggling, and the best means of fooling the 
 coast-guardsmen, who, as we all know, are the 
 sworn enemies of honest seafarers. 
 
 Upstairs, at the grand table, old circumnavi- 
 gators went so far as to relate droll stories, in the 
 vernacular. 
 
 But the wind was raging altogether too 
 Strong; for the windows shook with a terrible 
 clatter, and the man telling the tale had hur- 
 riedly ended to go and see to his smack. 
 
 Then another went on : " When I was boVn's 
 mate aboard of the ZSnobie, a-lying at Aden, 
 and a-doing the duty of a corporal of marines, by 
 the same token, you ought to ha' seen the os- 
 tridge feather traders a-trying to scramble up over 
 the side. \Imitating the broken talk"] * Bon-joo, 
 cap'n ! we're not thief s — we're honest merchants' 
 
 222 
 
The Discordant Note 
 
 — Honest, my eye ! with a sweep of the bucket, 
 a purtending to draw some water up, I sent 'em 
 all flying back an oar's length. * Honest mer- 
 chants, are ye,' says I, * then send us up a bunch of 
 honest feathers first — with a hard dollar or two 
 in the core of it, d'ye see, and then I'll believe in 
 your honesty ! * Why, I could ha* made my for- 
 tun' out of them beggars, if I hadn't been born 
 and brought up honest myself, and but a suck- 
 ing-dove in wisdom, saying nothing of my having 
 a sweetheart at Toulon in the millinery line, who 
 could have used any quantity of feathers " 
 
 Ha ! here's one of Yann's little brothers, a 
 future Iceland fisherman, with a fresh pink face 
 and bright eyes, who is suddenly taken ill from 
 having drunk too much cider. So little Laumec 
 has to be carried off, which cuts short the story 
 of the milliner and the feathers. 
 
 The wind wailed in the chimney like an evil 
 spirit in torment ; with fearful strength, it shook 
 the whole house on its stone foundation. 
 
 " It strikes me the wind is stirred up, acos 
 we're enjoying of ourselves," said the pilot 
 cousin. 
 
 "No, it's the sea that's wrathy," corrected 
 
 Yann, smiling at Gaud, "because I'd promised 
 
 I'd be wedded to herT 
 
 223 
 
Yann's First Wedding 
 
 A strange languor seemed to envelop them 
 both ; they spoke to one another in a low voice, 
 apart, in the midst of the general gaiety. Yann, 
 knowing thoroughly the effect of wine, did not 
 drink at all. Now and then he turned dull too, 
 thinking of Sylvestre. It was an understood 
 thing that there was to be no dancing, on account 
 of him and of Gaud's dead father. 
 
 It was the dessert now ; the singing would 
 soon begin. But first there were the prayers to 
 say, for the dead of the family ; this form is 
 never omitted, at all wedding-feasts, and is a 
 solemn duty. So when old Gaos rose and un- 
 covered his white head, there was a dead silence 
 around. 
 
 *' This," said he, " is for Guillaume Gaos, my 
 father." Making the sign of the cross, he began 
 the Lord's prayer in Latin : ** Pater noster, qui es 
 in ccelis^ sandificetur nomen tuum " 
 
 The silence included all, even to the joyful 
 little ones downstairs, and every voice was re- 
 peating in an undertone the same eternal words. 
 
 "This is for Yves and Jean Gaos, my two 
 
 brothers, who were lost in the Sea of Iceland. 
 
 This for Pierre Gaos, my son, shipwrecked 
 
 aboard the Zilie:' When all the dead Gaoses 
 
 had had their prayers, he turned towards grand- 
 
 224 
 
The Discordant Note 
 
 mother Moan, saying, ** This one is for Sylvestre 
 Moan." 
 
 Yann wept as he recited another prayer. 
 
 ** Sed libera nos a malo. Amen ! " 
 
 Then the songs began ; sea-songs learned in 
 the navy, on the forecastle, where we all know 
 there are rare good vocalists. 
 
 " Un noble corps, pas moins que celui des Zou- 
 aves^' etc. 
 
 A noble and a gallant lad 
 
 The Zouave is, we know. 
 But, capping him for bravery. 
 
 The sailor stands, I trow. 
 Hurrah, hurrah ! long life to him. 
 Whose glory never can grow dim ! 
 
 This was sung by one of the bride's sup- 
 porters, in a feeling tone that went to the soul ; 
 and the chorus was taken up by other fine, manly 
 voices. 
 
 But the newly wedded pair seemed to listen 
 as from a distance. When they looked at one 
 another, their eyes shone with dulled brilliance, 
 like that of transparently shaded lamps. They 
 spoke in even a lower voice, and still held each 
 other's hands. Gaud bent her head, too, gradu- 
 ally overcome by a vast, delightful terror, before 
 her master. 
 
 The ,Dilot cousin went around the table, serv- 
 225 
 
Yann's First Wedding 
 
 ing out a wine of his own ; he had brought it 
 with much care, hugging and patting the bottle, 
 which ought not to be shaken, he said. He told 
 the story of it. One day out fishing they saw a 
 cask a-floating ; it was too big to haul on board, 
 so they had stove in the head and filled all the 
 pots and cans they had, with most of its con- 
 tents. It was impossible to take all, so they had 
 signalled to other pilots and fishers, and all the 
 sails in sight had flocked round the flotsam. 
 
 " And I know more than one old sobersides 
 who was gloriously topheavy when we got back 
 to Pors-Even at night ! " he chuckled liquorishly. 
 
 The wind still went on with its fearful din. 
 
 Downstairs the children were dancing in 
 rings; except some of the youngest, sent to 
 bed ; but the others, who were romping about, 
 led by little Fantec (Francis) and Laumec (Guil- 
 laume), wanted to go and play outside. Every 
 minute they were opening the door and letting 
 in furious gusts, which blew out the candles. 
 
 The pilot cousin went on with his story. 
 
 Forty bottles had fallen to his lot, he said. He 
 
 begged them all to say nothing about it, because 
 
 of "'Monsieur le Commissaire de rinscription 
 
 Maritime^' who would surely make a fuss over 
 
 the undeclared find. 
 
 226 
 
The Discordant Note 
 
 " But, d'ye see," he went on, " it sarved the 
 lubbers right to heave over such a vallyble cask 
 or let it 'scape the lashings, for it's a superior 
 quality, with sartinly more jinywine grape-juice 
 in it than in all the wine-merchants' cellars of 
 Paimpol. Goodness knows whence it came — 
 this here castaway liquor." 
 
 It was very strong and rich in colour, dashed 
 with sea-water, and had the flavour of cod-pickle, 
 but in spite of that, relishable ; and several bot- 
 tles were emptied. 
 
 Some heads began to spin ; the Babel of 
 voices became more confused, and the lads kissed 
 the lasses less surreptitiously. 
 
 The songs joyously continued ; but the winds 
 would not moderate, and the seamen exchanged 
 tokens of apprehension about the bad weather 
 increasing. 
 
 The sinister clamour without was indeed 
 worse than ever. It had become one continuous 
 howl, deep and threatening, as if a thousand mad 
 creatures were yelling with full throats and out- 
 stretched necks. 
 
 One might imagine heavy sea-guns shooting 
 
 out their deafening boom in the distance, but 
 
 that was only the sea hammering the coast of 
 
 Ploubazlanec on all points ; undoubtedly it did 
 
 227 
 
Yann's First Wedding 
 
 not appear contented, and Gaud felt her heart 
 shrink at this dismal music, which no one had 
 ordered for their wedding-feast. 
 
 Towards midnight, during a calm, Yann, who 
 had risen softly, beckoned his wife to come to 
 speak to him. 
 
 It was to go home. She blushed, filled with 
 shame, and confused at having left her seat so 
 promptly. She said it would be impolite to go 
 away directly and leave the others. 
 
 ** Not a bit on it," replied Yann, " my father 
 allows it ; we may go," and away he carried her. 
 
 They hurried away stealthily. Outside they 
 found themselves in the cold, the bitter wind, 
 and the miserable, agitated night. They began 
 to run hand-in-hand. 
 
 From the height of the cliff-path, one could 
 imagine, without seeing it, the furious open sea, 
 whence arose all this hubbub. They ran along, 
 the wind cutting their faces, both bowed before 
 the angry gusts, and obliged to put their hands 
 over their mouths to cover their breathing, which 
 the wind had completely taken away at first. 
 
 He held her up by the waist at the outset, to 
 keep her dress from trailing on the ground, and 
 her fine new shoes from being spoiled in the 
 water, which streamed about their feet, and next 
 
 228 
 
The Discordant Note 
 
 he held her round the neck, too, and continued 
 to run on still faster. He could hardly realize 
 that he loved her so much ! To think that 
 she was now twenty-three and he nearly twenty- 
 eight ; that they might have been married two 
 years ago,, and as happy then as to-night ! 
 
 At last they arrived at home, that poor lodg- 
 ing, with its damp flooring and moss-grown roof. 
 They lit the candle, which the wind blew out 
 twice. 
 
 Old grandam Moan, who had been taken 
 home before the singing began, was there. She 
 had been sleeping for the last two hours in her 
 bunk, the flaps of which were shut. They drew 
 near with respect and peeped through the fret- 
 work of her press, to bid her good-night, if by 
 chance she were not asleep. But they only per- 
 ceived her still venerable face and closed eyes ; 
 she slept, or she feigned to do so, not to disturb 
 them. 
 
 They felt they were alone then. Both trem- 
 bled as they clasped hands. He bent forward 
 to kiss her lips; but Gaud turned them aside, 
 through ignorance of that kind of kiss ; and as 
 chastely as on the evening of their betrothal, she 
 pressed hers to Yann's cheek, which w^s chilled, 
 almost frozen, by the wind. 
 
 22Q 
 
Yann*s First Wedding 
 
 It was so bitterly cold in their poor, lovf- 
 roofed cottage. If Gaud had only remained 
 rich, what happiness she would have felt in ar- 
 ranging a pretty room, not like this one on the 
 bare ground! She was scarcely yet used to these 
 rugged granite walls, and the rough look of all 
 things around ; but her Yann was there now, 
 and by his presence everything was changed and 
 transfigured. She saw only her husband. Their 
 lips met now ; no turning aside. Still standing 
 with their arms intertwined tightly to draw them- 
 selves together, they remained dumb, in the per- 
 fect ecstasy of a never-ending kiss. Their flut- 
 tering breath commingled, and both quivered as 
 if in a burning fever. They seemed without 
 power to tear themselves apart, and knew noth- 
 ing and desired nothing beyond that long kiss of 
 consecrated love. 
 
 She drew herself away, suddenly agitated. 
 " Nay, Yann ! Granny Yvonne might see us," 
 she faltered. 
 
 But he, with a smile, sought his wife's lips 
 again and fastened his own upon them, like a 
 thirsty man whose cup of fresh water had been 
 taken from him. 
 
 The movement they had made broke the 
 
 charm of delightful hesitation. Yann, who, at 
 
 230 
 
The Discordant Note 
 
 the first, was going to kneel to her as before a 
 saint, felt himself fired again. He glanced stealth- 
 ily towards the old oaken bunks, irritated at being 
 so close to the old woman, and seeking some way 
 not to be spied upon, but ever without breaking 
 away from those exquisite lips. 
 
 He stretched forth his arm behind him, and 
 with the back of his hand dashed out the light, 
 as if the wind had done it. Then he snatched 
 her up in his arms. Still holding her close, with 
 his mouth continually pressed to hers, he seemed 
 like a wild lion with his teeth embedded in his 
 prey. For her part she gave herself up entirely, 
 to that body and soul seizure that was imperious 
 and without possible resistance, even though it 
 remained soft as a great all-comprising embrace. 
 
 Around them, for their wedding hymn, the 
 
 same invisible orchestra, played on " Hoo- 
 
 ooh-hoo ! " At times the wind bellowed out in 
 its deep noise, with a tremolo of rage ; and again 
 repeated its threats, as if with refined cruelty, in 
 low sustained tones, flute-like as the hoot of an 
 owl. 
 
 The broad, fathomless grave of all sailors lay 
 
 nigh to them, restless and ravenous, drumming 
 
 against the cliffs with its muffled boom. 
 
 One night or another Yann would have to 
 231 
 
Yann's First Wedding 
 
 be caught in that maw, and battle with it in the 
 midst of the terror of ice as well. Both knew 
 this plainly. 
 
 But what mattered that now to them on land, 
 sheltered from the sea's futile fury. In their poor 
 gloomy cottage, over which tempest rushed, they 
 scorned all that was hostile, intoxicated and de- 
 lightfully fortified against the whole by the eter- 
 nal magic of love. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE BLISSFUL WEEK 
 
 For six days they were husband and wife. 
 In this time of leave-taking the preparations for 
 the Iceland season occupied everybody. The 
 women heaped up the salt for the pickle in the 
 holds of the vessels ; the men saw to the masts 
 and rigging. Yann's mother and sisters worked 
 from morning till night at the making of the 
 sou' westers and oilskin waterproofs. 
 
 The weather was dull, and the sea, forefeeling 
 the approach of the equinoctial gales, was restless 
 and heaving. 
 
 Gaud went through these inexorable prepara- 
 tions with agony ; counting the fleeting hours of 
 
 232 
 
The Blissful Week 
 
 the day, and looking forward to the night, when 
 work was over, and she would have her Yann to 
 herself. 
 
 Would he leave her every year in this way ? 
 
 She hoped to be able to keep him back, but 
 she did not dare to speak to him about that wish 
 as yet. He loved her passionately, too ; he never 
 had known anything like this affection before ; 
 it was such a fresh, trusting tenderness that the 
 same caresses and fondlings always seemed as if 
 novel and unknown heretofore ; and their intox- 
 ication of love continued to increase, and never 
 seemed — never was satiated. 
 
 What charmed and surprised her in her mate 
 was his tenderness and boyishness. This the 
 Yann in love, whom she had sometimes seen at 
 Paimpol most contemptuous towards the girls. 
 On the contrary, to her he always maintained 
 that kindly courtesy that seemed natural to him, 
 and she adored that beautiful smile that came to 
 him whenever their eyes met. Among these 
 simple folk there exists the feeling of absolute 
 respect for the dignity of the wife ; there is an 
 ocean between her and the sweetheart. Gaud 
 was essentially the wife. She was sorely troubled 
 in her happiness, however, for it seemed some- 
 thing too unhoped for, as unstable as a joyful 
 
 233 
 
Yann's First Wedding 
 
 dream. Besides, would this love be lasting in 
 Yann ? She remembered sometimes his former 
 flames, his fancies and different love adventures, 
 and then she grew fearful. Would he always 
 cherish that infinite tenderness and sweet respect 
 for her ? 
 
 Six days of a wedded life, for such a love as 
 theirs, was nothing; only a fevered instalment 
 taken from the married life term, which might 
 be so long before them yet ! They had scarcely 
 had leisure to be together at all and understand 
 that they really belonged to one another. All 
 their plans of life together, of peaceful joy, and 
 settling down, was forcedly put off till the fisher- 
 man's return. 
 
 No ! at any price she would stop him from 
 going to this dreadful Iceland another year! 
 But how should she manage ? And what could 
 they do for a livelihood, being both so poor ? 
 Then again he so dearly loved the sea. But in 
 spite of all, she would try and keep him home 
 another season ; she would use all her power, 
 intelligence, and heart to do so. Was she to be 
 the wife of an Icelander, to watch each spring- 
 tide approach with sadness, and pass the whole 
 summer in painful anxiety? no, now that she 
 loved him, above everything that she could 
 
 234 
 
The Blissful Week 
 
 imagine, she felt seized with an immense terror 
 at the thought of years to come thus robbed 
 of the better part. 
 
 They had one spring day together — only one. 
 It was the day before the sailing ; all the stores 
 had been shipped, and Yann remained the whole 
 day with her. They strolled along, arm-in-arm, 
 through the lanes, like sweethearts again, very 
 close to one another, murmuring a thousand 
 tender things. The good folk smiled, as they 
 saw them pass, saying : 
 
 " It's Gaud, with long Yann from Pors-Even. 
 They were married only t'other day ! " 
 
 This last day was really spring. It was 
 strange and wonderful to behold this universal 
 serenity. Not a single cloud marred the lately 
 flecked sky. The wind did not blow anywhere. 
 The sea had become quite tranquil, and was of a 
 pale, even blue tint. The sun shone with glar- 
 ing white brilliancy, and the rough Breton land 
 seemed bathed in its light, as in a rare, dehcate 
 ether ; it seemed to brighten and revive even in 
 the utmost distance. The air had a delicious, 
 balmy scent, as of summer itself, and seemed as 
 if it were always going to remain so, and never 
 know any more gloomy, thunderous days. The 
 
 capes and bays over which the changeful shadows 
 
 235 
 
Yann's First Wedding 
 
 of the clouds no longer passed, were outlined in 
 strong steady lines in the sunlight, and appeared 
 to rest also in the long-during calm. All this 
 made their loving festival sweeter and longer 
 drawn out. The early flowers already appeared : 
 primroses, and frail, scentless violets grew along 
 the hedgerows. 
 
 When Gaud asked : *' How long then are 
 you going to love me, Yann ? " 
 
 He answered, surprisedly, looking at her full 
 in the face with his frank eyes : " Why, for ever, 
 Gaud." 
 
 That word, spoken so simply by his fierce 
 lips, seemed to have its true sense of eternity. 
 
 She leaned on his arm. In the enchantment 
 of her realized dream, she pressed close to him, 
 always anxious, feeling that he was as flighty as 
 a wild sea-bird. To-morrow he would take his 
 soaring on the open sea. And it was too late 
 now, she could do nothing to stop him. 
 
 From the cliff -paths where they wandered, 
 they could see the whole of this sea-bound coun- 
 try ; which seems almost treeless, strewn with 
 low, stunted bush and boulders. Here and there 
 fishers' huts were scattered over the rocks, their 
 high battered thatches made green by the crop- 
 ping up of new mosses ; and in the extreme dis- 
 
 236 
 
The Blissful Week 
 
 tance, the sea, like a boundless transparency, 
 stretched out in a never-ending horizon, which 
 seemed to encircle everything. 
 
 She enjoyed telling him about all the won- 
 derful things she had seen in Paris, but he was 
 very contemptuous, and was not interested. 
 
 *' It's so far in from the coast," said he, " and 
 there is so much land between, that it must be 
 unhealthy. So many houses and so many peo- 
 ple, too, about ! There must be lots of ills and 
 ails in those big towns ; no, I shouldn't like to 
 live there, certain sure ! " 
 
 She smiled, surprised to see this giant so sim- 
 ple a fellow. 
 
 Sometimes they came across hollows where 
 trees grew and seemed to defy the winds. There 
 was no view here, only dead leaves scattered be- 
 neath their feet and chilly dampness ; the narrow 
 way, bordered on both sides by green reeds, 
 seemed very dismal under the shadow of the 
 branches ; hemmed in by the walls of some dark, 
 lonely hamlet, rotting with old age, and slumber- 
 ing in this hollow. 
 
 A crucifix arose inevitably before them, among 
 the dead branches, with its colossal image of Our 
 Saviour in weather-worn wood, its features wrung 
 with His endless agony. 
 
 237 
 
Yann's First Wedding 
 
 Then the pathway rose again, and they found 
 themselves commanding the view of immense 
 horizons — and breathed the bracing air of sea- 
 heights once more. 
 
 He, to match her, spoke of Iceland, its 
 pale, nightless summers and sun that never set. 
 Gaud did not understand and asked him to 
 explain. 
 
 "The sun goes all round," said he, waving 
 his arm in the direction of the distant circle of 
 the blue waters. *' It always remains very low, 
 because it has no strength to rise ; at midnight, 
 it drags a bit through the water, but soon gets 
 up and begins its journey round again. Some- 
 times the moon appears too, at the other side of 
 the sky ; then they move together, and you can't 
 very well tell one from t'other, for they are much 
 alike in that queer country." 
 
 To see the sun at midnight ! How very far 
 off Iceland must be for such marvels to happen ! 
 And the fjords ? Gaud had read that word sev- 
 eral times written among the names of the dead 
 in the chapel of the shipwrecked, and it seemed 
 to portend some grisly thing. 
 
 "The fjords," said Yann, "they are only 
 broad bays, like Paimpol, for instance ; only they 
 are surrounded by high mountains — so high that 
 
 238 
 
The Blissful Week 
 
 they seem endless, because of the clouds upon 
 their tops. It's a sorry country, I can tell you, 
 darling. Nothing but stones. The people of 
 Iceland know of no such things as trees. In the 
 middle of August, when our fishery is over, it*s 
 quite time to return, for the nights begin again 
 then, and they lengthen out very quickly ; the sun 
 falls below the earth without being able to get 
 up, and that night lasts all the winter through. 
 Talking of night," he continued, " there's a little 
 burying-ground on the coast in one of the fjords, 
 for Paimpol men who have died during the sea* 
 son or went down at sea ; it's consecrated earth, 
 just like at Pors-Even, and the dead have wooden 
 crosses just like ours here, with their names 
 painted on them. The two Goazdious from 
 Ploubazlanec lie there, and Guillaume Moan, 
 Sylvestre's grandfather." 
 
 She could almost see the little churchyard at ^ 
 the foot of the solitary capes, under the pale rose- 
 coloured light of those never-ending days, and 
 she thought of those distant dead, under the ice 
 and dark winding sheets of the long night-like 
 winters. 
 
 ** Do you fish the whole time," she asked, 
 " without ever stopping ? " 
 
 "The whole time, though we somehow get 
 
 VOL. 20 239 Romances 12 
 
Yann*s First Wedding 
 
 on with work on deck, for the sea isn't always 
 fine out there. Well ! of course we're dead beat 
 when the night comes, but it gives a man an 
 appetite — bless you, dearest, we r^ularly gobble 
 down our meals." 
 
 " Do you never feel sick of it ?" 
 
 •* Never," returned he, with an air of unshaken 
 faith which pained her ; " on deck, on the open 
 sea, the time never seems long to a man — never ! " 
 
 She hung her head, feeling sadder than ever, 
 and more and more vanquished by her only ene- 
 my, the sea. 
 
 i\ 
 
 11 
 

 FARTV 
 
 THE SECOND WEDDING 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 THE START 
 
 After the spring day they had enjoyed, the 
 falling night brought back the impression of win- 
 ter, and they returned to dine before their fire, 
 which was flamiAg with new branches. It was 
 their last meal together ; but they had some hours 
 yet, and were not saddened. 
 
 After dinner, they recovered the sweet im- 
 pression of spring again, out on the Pors-Even 
 road ; for the air was calm, almost genial, and the 
 twilight still lingered over the land. 
 
 They went to see the family — for Yann to bid 
 good-bye — and returned early, as they wished to 
 rise with break of day. 
 
 The next morning the quay of Paimpol was 
 crowded with people. The departures for Ice- 
 land had begun the day before, and with each 
 tide there was a fresh fleet off. On this particu- 
 lar morning, fifteen vessels were to start with the 
 Liopoldine, and the wives or mothers of the sail- 
 ors were all present at the getting under sail 
 
 243 
 
The Second Wedding 
 
 Gaud, who was now the wife of an Icelander, 
 ^as much surprised to find herself among them 
 11, and brought thither for the same fateful pur- 
 ose. Her position seemed to have become so 
 itensified within the last few days, that she had 
 arely had time to realize things as they were ; 
 liding irresistibly down an incline, she had ar- 
 ived at this inexorable conclusion that she must 
 ear up for the present, and do as the others did, 
 ''ho were accustomed to it. 
 
 She never before had been present at these 
 irewells ; hence all was new to her. Among 
 [lese women was none like her, and she felt her 
 ifference and isolation. Her past life, as a lady, 
 ras still remembered, and caused her to be set 
 side as one apart. 
 
 The weather had remained fine on this part- $| 
 
 ig-day ; but out at sea a heavy swell came from 
 he west, foretelling wind, and the sea, lying in 
 ^ait for these new adventurers, burst its crests 
 far. 
 
 Around Gaud stood many good-looking wives 
 
 Ike her, and touching, with their eyes big with 
 
 ears ; others were thoughtless and lively ; these 
 
 lad no heart or were not in love. Old women, 
 
 hreatened nearly by death, wept as they clung 
 
 o their sons ; sweethearts kissed each other ; 
 
 244 
 
The Start 
 
 half-maudlin sailors sang to cheer themselves up, 
 while others went on board with gloomy looks 
 as to their execution. 
 
 Many sad incidents could be marked ; there 
 were poor luckless fellows who had signed their 
 contracts unconsciously, when in liquor in the 
 grog-shop, and they had to be dragged on board 
 by force ; their own wives helping the gen- 
 darmes. Others, noted for their great strength, 
 had been drugged in drink beforehand, and were 
 carried like corpses on stretchers, and flung down 
 in the forecastles. 
 
 Gaud was frightened by all this ; what com- 
 panions were these for her Yann ? and what a 
 fearful thing was this Iceland, to inspire men 
 with such terror of it ? 
 
 Yet there were sailors who smiled, and were 
 happy ; who, doubtless, like Yann, loved the un- 
 trammelled life and hard fishing work ; those 
 were the sound, able seamen, who had fine noble 
 countenances ; if they were unmarried they went 
 off recklessly, merely casting a last look on the 
 lasses; and if they were married, they kissed 
 their wives and little ones, with fervent sadness 
 and deep hopefulness as to returning home all 
 the richer. 
 
 Gaud was a little comforted when she saw 
 245 
 
The Second Wedding 
 
 that all the Ldopoldines were of the latter class> 
 iorming really a picked crew. 
 
 The vessels set oif two by two, or four by 
 four, drawn out by the tugs. As soon as they 
 moved the sailors raised their caps and, full- 
 voiced, struck up the hymn to the Virgin : " So* 
 lut, Etoile-de-la-Mer r' (All Hail! Star of the 
 Sea !), while on the quay, the women waved 
 their hands for a last farewell, and tears fell upon 
 the lace strings of the caps. 
 
 As soon as the Liopoldine started, Gaud 
 quickly set off towards the house of the Gaoses, 
 After an hour and a half's walk along the coast, 
 through the familiar paths of Ploubazlanec, she 
 arrived there, at the very land's end, within the 
 home of her new family. 
 
 The Ldopoldine was to cast anchor off Pors- 
 Even before starting definitely in the evening, 
 so the married pair had made a last appointment 
 here. Yann came to land in the yawl, and 
 stayed another three hours with her to bid her 
 good-bye on firm land. The weather was still 
 beautiful and spring-like, and the sky serene. 
 
 They walked out on the high road arm-in-arm, 
 and it reminded them of their walk the day be- 
 fore. They strolled on towards Paimpol with- 
 out any apparent object in view, and soon came 
 
 246 
 

 The Start 
 
 to their own home, as if unconsciously drawn 
 there ; they entered together for the last time. 
 Grandam Moan was quite amazed at seeing them 
 together again. 
 
 Yann left many injunctions with Gaud con- 
 cerning several of his things in their wardrobe, 
 especially about his fine wedding clothes ; she 
 was to take them out occasionally and air them 
 in the sun, and so on. On board ship the sail- 
 ors learn all these household-like matters ; but 
 Gaud was amused to hear it. Her husband 
 might have been sure, though, that all his things 
 would be kept and attended to, with loving care. 
 
 But all these matters were very secondary for 
 them ; they spoke of them only to have some- 
 thing to talk about, and to hide their real feel- 
 ings. They went on speaking in low, soft tones, 
 as if fearing to frighten away the moments that 
 remained, and so make time flit by more swiftly 
 still. Their conversation was as a thing that had 
 inexorably to come to an end ; and the most in- 
 significant things that they said seemed, on this 
 day, to become wondrous, mysterious, and im- 
 portant. 
 
 At the very last minute Yann caught up his 
 wife in his arms, and without saying a word, they 
 were enfolded in a long and silent embrace. 
 
 247 
 
The Second Wedding 
 
 He embarked ; the gray sails were unfurled 
 and spread out to the light wind that rose from 
 the west. He, whom she still could distinguish, 
 waved his cap in a particular way agreed on be- 
 tween them. And with her figure outlined 
 against the sea, she gazed for a long, long time 
 upon her departing love. 
 
 That tiny, human-shaped speck, appearing 
 black against the bluish gray of the waters, was 
 still her husband, even though already it became 
 vague and indefinable, lost in the distance, where 
 persistent sight becomes baffled, and can see no 
 longer. 
 
 As the Uopoldine faded out of vision, Gaud, 
 as if drawn by a magnet, followed the pathway 
 all along the cliffs till she had to stop, because 
 the land came to an end ; she sat down at the 
 foot of a tall cross, which rises amidst the gorse 
 and stones. As it was rather an elevated spot, 
 the sea, as seen from there, appeared to be 
 rimmed, 'as in a bowl, and the Liopoldine^ now a 
 mere point, appeared sailing up the incline of 
 that immense circle. The water rose in great 
 slow undulations, like the upheavals of a sub* 
 marine combat going on somewhere beyond the 
 horizon ; but over the great space where Yano 
 still was, all dwelt calm. 
 
 348 
 
 f 
 
 I 
 
 
The Start 
 
 Gaud still gazed at the ship, trying to fix its 
 image well in her brain, so that she might recog- 
 nise it again from afar, when she returned to the 
 same place to watch for its home-coming. 
 
 Great swells now rolled in from the west» one 
 after another, without cessation, renewing their 
 useless efforts, and ever breaking over the same 
 rocks, foaming over the same places, to wash the 
 same stones. The stifled fury of the sea ap- 
 peared strange, considering the absolute calmness 
 of the air and sky ; it was as if the bed of the sea 
 were too full and would overflow and swallow 
 up the strand. 
 
 The Liopoldine had grown smaller and smaller, 
 and was lost in the distance. Doubtless the un- 
 der-tow carried her along, for she moved swiftly 
 and yet the evening breezes were very faint. 
 Now she was only a tiny, gray touch, and would 
 soon reach the extreme horizon of all visible 
 things, and enter those infinite regions, whence 
 darkness was beginning to come. 
 
 Going on seven o'clock, night closed, and the 
 boat had disappeared. Gaud returned home, 
 feeling withal rather brave, notwithstanding the 
 tears that uncontainably fell. What a difference 
 it would have been, and what still greater pain, if 
 he had gone away, as in the two preceding years, 
 
 249 
 
The Second Wedding 
 
 without even a good-bye ! While now every- 
 thing was softened and bettered between them. 
 He was really her own Yann, and she knew her- 
 self to be so truly loved, notwithstanding this 
 separation, that, as she returned home alone, she 
 felt at least consoled by the thought of the de- 
 lightful waiting for that " soon again ! " to be 
 realized to which they had pledged themselves for 
 the autumn. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE FIRST OF THE FLEET 
 
 The summer passed sadly, being hot and 
 uneventful. She watched anxiously for the 
 first yellowed leaves, and the first gathering of 
 the swallows, and blooming of the chrysanthe- 
 mums. She wrote to Yann several times by the 
 boats bound for Rykawyk, and by the govern- 
 ment cruisers, but one never can be sure of such 
 ietters reaching their destination. 
 
 Towards the end of July, she received a letter 
 
 from him, however. He told her that his health 
 
 was good, that the fishing season promised to be 
 
 excellent, and that he already had 1500 fish for 
 
 his share. From beginning to end, it was written 
 
 in the simple conventional way of all these Ice- 
 
 250 
 
 
The First of the Fleet 
 
 landers' home letters. Men educated like Yann 
 completely ignore how to write the thousand 
 things they think, feel, or fancy. Being more 
 cultivated than he, Gaud could understand this, 
 and read between the lines that deep affection 
 that was unexpressed. Several times in the four- 
 paged letter, he called her by the title of " wife," 
 as if happy in repeating the word. And the ad- 
 dress above : ** A Madame Marguerite Gaos, mau 
 son Moan, en Ploubazlanec '* — she liked to read 
 that over and over again. She was " Madame 
 Marguerite Gaos" since so short a time. 
 
 She worked hard during these summer 
 months. The ladies of Paimpol had, at first, 
 hardly believed in her talent as an amateur dress- 
 maker, saying her hands were too fine-ladyish; 
 but they soon perceived that she excelled in 
 making dresses that were very nice-fitting, so she 
 had become almost a famous dressmaker. 
 
 She spent all her earnings in embellishing 
 their home against his return. The wardrobe 
 and old-shelved beds were all done up afresh, 
 waxed over, and bright new fastenings put on ; 
 she had put a pane of glass into their little win- 
 dow towards the sea, and hung up a pair of cur* 
 tains ; and she had bought a new counterpane 
 
 for the winter, with new chairs and table. 
 
 251 
 
The Second Wedding 
 
 She had kept the money untouched that her 
 Yann had left her, carefully put by in a small 
 Chinese box, to show him when he returned. 
 During the summer evenings, by the fading light, 
 she sat out before the cottage door with Granny 
 Moan, whose head was much better in the warm 
 weather, and knitted a fine new blue wool jersey 
 for her Yann ; round the collar and cuffs were 
 wonderful open-work embroideries. Granny 
 Yvonne had been a very clever knitter in her 
 day, and now she taught all she knew to Gaud. 
 The work took a great deal of wool ; for it had 
 to be a large jersey to fit Yann. 
 
 But soon, especially in the evenings, the 
 shortening of the days could be perceived. Some 
 plants, which had put forth all their blossoms in 
 July, began to look yellow and dying, and the 
 violet scabious by the wayside bloomed for the 
 second time, smaller now, and longer-stalked ; 
 the last days of August drew nigh, and the first 
 return-ship from Iceland hove in sight one even- 
 ing at the cape of Pors-Even. The feast of the 
 returners began. 
 
 Every one pressed in a crowd on the cliff to 
 welcome it. Which one was it ? 
 
 It was the Samuel-Azinide, always the first 
 to return. 
 
 252 
 
All but Two 
 
 "Surely," said Yann's old father, "the Lio- 
 poldine won't be long now ; I know how 'tis out 
 yonder : when one of 'em begins to start home- 
 ward, the others can't hang back in any peace." 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 ALL BUT TWO 
 
 The Icelanders were all returning now. Two 
 ships came in the second day, four the next, and 
 twelve during the following week. And, all 
 through the country, joy returned with them, 
 and there was happiness for the wives and moth- 
 ers ; and junkets in the taverns where the beau- 
 tiful barmaids of Paimpol served out drink to 
 the fishers. 
 
 The Ldopoldine was among the belated ; there 
 were yet another ten expected. They would not 
 be long now, and allowing a week's delay so as 
 not to be disappointed. Gaud waited in happy, 
 passionate joy for Yann, keeping their home 
 bright and tidy for his return. When everything 
 was in good order there was nothing left for her 
 to do, and besides she could think of nothing else 
 but her husband in her impatience. 
 
 253 
 
The Second Wedding 
 
 Three more ships appeared ; then another five. 
 There were only two lacking now. 
 
 ** Come, come," they said to her cheerily, ** this 
 year the L^opoldine and the Marie-Jeanne will be 
 the last, to pick up all the brooms fallen over- 
 board from the other craft." 
 
 Gaud laughed also. She was more animated 
 and beautiful than ever, in her great joy of ex- 
 pectancy. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 STILL AT SEA 
 
 But the days succeeded one another without 
 result. She still dressed herself every day, and 
 with a joyful look, went down to the harbour to 
 gossip with the other wives. She said that this 
 delay was but natural ; was it not the same event 
 every year? These were such safe boats, and 
 had such capital sailors. 
 
 But when at home alone, at night, a nerv^ous, 
 anxious shiver of anguish would run through her 
 whole frame. 
 
 Was it right to be frightened already ? Was 
 there even a single reason to be so ? But she 
 began to tremble at the mere idea of grounds 
 for being afraid. 
 
 254 
 
Sharing the Dread 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 SHARING THE DREAD 
 
 The tenth of September came. How swiftly 
 the days flew by I 
 
 One morning, a true autumn morning, with 
 cold mist falling over the earth, in the rising sun, 
 she sate under the porch of the chapel of the 
 shipwrecked mariners, where the widows go to 
 pray ; with eyes fixed and glassy, throbbing tem- 
 ples tightened as by an iron band. 
 
 These sad morning mists had begun two days 
 before, and on this particular day Gaud had 
 awakened with a still more bitter uneasiness, 
 caused by the forecast of advancing winter. Why 
 did this day, this hour, this very moment, seem to 
 her more painful than the preceding? Often 
 ships are delayed a fortnight, even a month, for 
 that matter. 
 
 But surely there was something different about 
 this particular morning, for she had come to-day 
 for the first time to sit in the porch of this chapel 
 and read the names of the dead sailors, perished 
 in their prime* 
 
 **/n memory of 
 
 Gaos, Yvon, 
 
 Lost at sea 
 
 Near the Norden-Fjord." 
 
 255 
 
 ri 
 
The Second Wedding 
 
 Like a great shudder, a gust of wind rose 
 from the sea, and at the same time something 
 fell like rain upon the roof above. It was only 
 the dead leaves though ; many were blown in at 
 the porch ; the old wind-tossed trees of the 
 graveyard were losing their foliage in this rising 
 gale, and winter was marching nearer. 
 
 " Lost at sea, 
 
 Near the Norden-Fjord, 
 
 In the storm of the 4th and 5th of August, 1880." 
 
 She read mechanically under the arch of the 
 doorway ; her eyes sought to pierce the distance 
 over the sea. That morning it was untraceable 
 under the gray mist, and a dragging drapery of 
 clouds overhung the horizon like a mourning veil. 
 
 Another gust of wind, and other leaves 
 danced in in whirls. A stronger gust still, as 
 if the western storm that had strewn those dead 
 over the sea, wished to deface the very inscrip- 
 tions that remembered their names to the living. 
 
 Gaud looked with involuntary persistency at 
 an empty space upon the wall that seemed to 
 yawn expectant. By a terrible impression she 
 was pursued, the thought of a fresh slab which 
 might soon, perhaps, be placed there, with an- 
 other name which she did not even dare to think 
 
 of in such a spot. 
 
 256 
 
 / 
 
Sharing the Dread 
 
 She felt cold, and remained seated on the 
 granite bench, her head reclining against the 
 stone wall. 
 
 " near the Norden- Fjord, 
 In the storm of the 4th and 5th of August, 
 At the age of 23 years. 
 Requiescat in pace / " 
 
 Then Iceland loomed up before her, with its 
 little cemetery lighted up from below the sea-line 
 by the midnight sun. Suddenly in the same 
 empty space on the wall, with horrifying clear- 
 ness she saw the fresh slab she was thinking of ; 
 a clear white one, with a skull and cross-bones, 
 and in a flash of foresight, a name — the wor- 
 shipped name of " Yann Gaos ! " Then she sud- 
 denly and fearfully drew herself up straight and 
 stiff, with a hoarse, wild cry in her throat like a 
 mad creature. 
 
 Outside the gray mist of the dawn fell over 
 the land, and the dead leaves were again blown 
 dancingly into the porch. 
 
 Steps on the footpath ? Somebody was 
 coming ? She rose and quickly smoothed down 
 her cap and composed her face. Nearer drew 
 the steps. She assumed the air of one who 
 might be there by chance ; for, above all, she 
 
 257 
 
The Second Wedding 
 
 did not wish to appear yet, like the widow of a 
 shipwrecked mariner. 
 
 It happened to be Fante Floury, the wife of 
 the second mate of the Ldopoldine, She under- 
 stood immediately what Gaud was doing there ; 
 it was useless to dissemble with her. At first 
 each woman stood speechless before the other. 
 They were angry and almost hated each other for 
 having met with a like sentiment of apprehen- 
 sion. 
 
 " All the men of Tr^guier and Saint Brieuc 
 have been back this week," said Fante at last, in 
 a pitiless, muffled, half-irritated voice. 
 
 She carried a blessed taper in her hand, to 
 offer up a prayer. Gaud did not wish yet to 
 resort to that extreme resource of despairing 
 wives. Yet silently she entered the chapel be- 
 hind Fante, and they knelt down together side 
 by side, like two sisters. 
 
 To the " Star of the Sea " they offered ardent 
 
 imploring prayers, with their whole soul in them. 
 
 A sound of sobbing was alone heard, as their 
 
 rapid tears swiftly fell upon the floor. They rose 
 
 together, more confident and softened. Fante 
 
 held up Gaud, who staggered, and taking her in 
 
 her arms, kissed her. 
 
 Wiping their eyes, and smoothing their di- 
 258 
 
All but One 
 
 shevelled hair, they brushed off the salt dust 
 from the flagstones, soiling their gowns, and 
 they went away in opposite directions, without 
 another word. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 ALL BUT ONE 
 
 This end of September was like another 
 summer, only a little less lively. The weather 
 was so beautiful, that had it not been for the 
 dead leaves that fell upon the roads, one might 
 have thought that June had come back again. 
 Husbands and sweethearts had all returned, and 
 eveiywhere was the joy of a second spring-time 
 of love. 
 
 At last, one day, one of the missing ships 
 was signalled. Which one was it ? 
 
 The groups of speechless and anxious women 
 had rapidly formed on the cliff. Gaud, pale and 
 trembling, was there, by the side of her Yann's 
 father. 
 
 " I'm almost sure," said the old fisher, " Fm 
 
 almost sure it's them ! A red rail and a topsail 
 
 that clews up — it's very like them anyhow. What 
 
 do you make it, Gaud ? 
 
 " No, it isn't," he went on, with sudden dis- 
 259 
 
The Second Wedding 
 
 couragement ; " we've made a mistake again, the 
 boom isn't ^the same, and ours has a jigger sail. 
 Well, well, it isn't our boat this time, it's only 
 the Marie-Jeanne, Never mind, my lass, surely 
 they'll not be long now." 
 
 But day followed day, and night succeeded 
 nigiit, with uninterrupted serenity. 
 
 Gaud continued to dress every day like a 
 poor crazed woman, always in fear of being taken 
 for the widow of a shipwrecked sailor, feeling 
 exasperated when others looked furtively and 
 compassionately at her, and glancing aside so 
 that she might not meet those glances that froze 
 her very blood. 
 
 She had fallen into the habit of going in the 
 
 early morning right to the end of the headland, 
 
 on the high cliffs of Pors-Even, passing behind 
 
 Yann's old home, so as not to be seen by his 
 
 mother or little sisters. She went to the extreme 
 
 point of the Ploubazlanec land, which is outlined 
 
 in the shape of a reindeer's horn upon the gray 
 
 waters of the channel, and sat there all day long 
 
 at the foot of the lonely cross, which rises high 
 
 above the immense waste of the ocean. There 
 
 are many of these crosses hereabout; they are 
 
 set up on the most advanced cliffs of the sea- 
 
 bound land, as if to implore mercy and to calm 
 
 260 
 
All but One 
 
 that restless mysterious power that draws men 
 away, never to give them back, and in preference: 
 retains the bravest and noblest. 
 
 Around this cross stretches the ever-green 
 waste, strewn with short rushes. At this great 
 height the sea air was very pure ; it scarcely re- 
 tained the briny odour of the weeds, but was per- 
 fumed with all the exquisite ripeness of Septem- 
 ber flowers. 
 
 Far away, all the bays and inlets of the coast 
 were firmly outlined, rising one above another ; 
 the land of Brittany terminated in ragged edges, 
 which spread out far into the tranquil surface. 
 
 Near at hand the reefs were numerous, but 
 out beyond nothing broke its polished mirror, 
 from which arose a soft, caressing ripple, light 
 and intensified from the depths of its many bays. 
 Its horizon seemed so calm, and its depths so 
 soft ! The great blue sepulchre of many Gaoses 
 hid its inscrutable mystery, while the breezes, 
 faint as human breath, wafted to and fro the per- 
 fume of the stunted gorse, which had bloomed 
 again in the latest autumn sun. 
 
 At regular hours the sea retreated, and great 
 
 spaces were left uncovered everywhere, as if the 
 
 Channel was slowly drying up ; then with the 
 
 same lazy slowness, the waters rose again, and 
 
 261 
 
The Second Wedding 
 
 continued their everlasting coming and going, 
 without any heed of the dead. 
 
 At the foot of the cross, Gaud remained, sur- 
 rounded by these tranquil mysteries, gazing ever 
 before her, until the night fell and she could see 
 no more. 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE mourner's VISION 
 
 September had passed. The sorrowing wife 
 took scarcely any nourishment, and could no 
 longer sleep. She remained at home now, 
 crouching low with her hands between her knees, 
 her head thrown back and resting against the 
 wall behind. What was the good of getting up 
 or going to bed now ? When she was thorough- 
 ly exhausted she threw herself, dressed, upon her 
 bed. Otherwise she remained in the same posi- 
 tion, chilled and benumbed ; in her quiescent 
 state, only her teeth chattered with the cold ; she 
 had that continual impression of a band of iron 
 round her brows ; her cheeks looked wasted ; her 
 mouth was dry, with a feverish taste, and at 
 times a painful hoarse cry rose from her throat, 
 and was repeated in spasms, while her head beat 
 
 backward against the granite wall. Or else she 
 
 262 
 
The Mourner's Vision 
 
 called Yann by his name in a low, tender voice, 
 as if he were quite close to her, whispering words 
 of love to her. 
 
 Sometimes she occupied her brain with 
 thoughts of quite insignificant things ; for in- 
 stance, she amused herself by watching the 
 shadow of the china Virgin lengthen slowly 
 over the high woodwork of the bed, as the sun 
 went down. And then the agonized thoughts re- 
 turned more horrible, and her wailing cry broke 
 out again as she beat her head against the wall. 
 
 All the hours of the day passed, and all the 
 hours of evening, and of night, and then the 
 hours of the morning. When she reckoned the 
 time he ought to have been back, she was seized 
 with a still greater terror ; she wished to forget 
 all dates and the very names of the days. 
 
 Usually there is some information concerning 
 the wrecks off Iceland ; those who return have 
 seen the tragedy from afar, or else have found 
 some wreckage or bodies, or have an indication 
 to guess the rest. But of the L^opoldine nothing 
 had been seen, and nothing was known. The 
 Marie-Jeanne men, the last to have seen her, on 
 the 2d of August, said that she was to have gone 
 on fishing farther towards the north, and, beyond 
 that, the secret was unfathomable. 
 
 VOL. 20 263 Romances 13 
 
The Second Wedding 
 
 Waiting, always waiting, and knowing noth- 
 ing ! When would the time come when she 
 need wait no longer ? She did not even know 
 that ; and, now, she almost wished that it might 
 be soon. 
 
 Oh ! if he were dead ; let them at least have 
 pity enough to tell her so ! Oh ! to see her 
 darling, as he was at this very moment, that is, 
 what was left him ! If only the much-im- 
 plored Virgin, or some other power, would do 
 her the blessing to show her, by second-sight, 
 her beloved ! either living and working hard to 
 return a rich man, or else as a corpse, surrendered 
 by the sea, so that she might at least know a 
 certainty. 
 
 Sometimes she was seized with the thought 
 of a ship appearing suddenly upon the horizon ; 
 the Ldopoldine hastening home. Then she would 
 suddenly make an irreflected movement to rise, 
 and rush to look out at the ocean, to see whether 
 it were true. 
 
 But she would fall back. Alas ! where was 
 this Ldopoldine now ? Where could she be ? Out 
 afar, at that awful distance of Iceland, forsaken, 
 crushed, and lost. 
 
 All ended by a never-fading vision appearing 
 
 to her — an empty, sea-tossed wreck, slowly and 
 
 264 
 
The False Alarm 
 
 gently rocked by the silent gray and rose-streaked 
 sea ; almost with soft mockery, in the midst of 
 the vast calm of deadened waters. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE FALSE ALARM 
 
 Two o'clock in the morning. 
 
 It was at night, especially, that she kept at- 
 tentive to approaching footsteps ; at the slightest 
 rumour or unaccustomed noise her temples vi- 
 brated ; by dint of being strained to outward 
 things, they had become fearfully sensitive. 
 
 Two o'clock in the morning. On this night 
 as on others, with her hands clasped and her eyes 
 wide open in the dark, she listened to the wind, 
 sweeping in never-ending tumult over the heath. 
 
 Suddenly a man's footsteps hurried along the 
 path ! At this hour who would pass now ? She 
 drew herself up, stirred to the very soul, her heart 
 ceasing to beat. 
 
 Some one stopped before the door, and came 
 up the small stone steps. 
 
 He ! — O God ! — he ! Some one had knocked 
 
 — ^it could be no other than he ! She was up 
 
 now, barefooted ; she, so feeble for the last few 
 
 265 
 
The Second Wedding 
 
 days, had sprung up as nimbly as a kitten, with 
 her arms outstretched to wind round her darling. 
 Of course the Lhpoldine had arrived at night, and 
 anchored in Pors-Even Bay, and he had rushed 
 home ; she arranged all this in her mind with the 
 swiftness of lightning. She tore the flesh off her 
 fingers in her excitement to draw the bolt, which 
 had stuck. 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 She slowly moved backward, as if crushed, 
 her head falling on her bosom. Her beautiful 
 insane dream was over. She just could grasp 
 that it was not her husband, her Yann, and that 
 nothing of him, substantial or spiritual, had passed 
 through the air ; she felt plunged again into her 
 deep abyss, to the lowest depths of her terrible 
 despair. 
 
 Poor Fantec, for it w^s he, stammered many 
 excuses, his wife was very ill, and their child was 
 stifling in its cot, suddenly attacked with a malig- 
 nant sore throat ; so he had run over to beg for 
 assistance on the road to fetch the doctor from 
 Paimpol. 
 
 What did all this matter to her? She had 
 gone mad in her own distress, and could give no 
 thoughts to the troubles of others. Huddled on 
 a bench, she remained before him with fixed^ 
 
 2^ 
 
The False Alarm 
 
 glazed eyes, like a dead woman's ; without listen- 
 ing to him or even answering at random or look- 
 ing at him. What to her was the speech the man 
 was making ? 
 
 He understood it all; and guessed why the 
 door had been opened so quickly to him, and 
 feeling pity for the pain he had unwittingly 
 caused, he stammered out an excuse. 
 
 "Just so ; he never had ought to have dis- 
 turbed her — her in particular." 
 
 ** I ! " ejaculated Gaud, quickly, " why should 
 I not be disturbed particularly, Fantec ? " 
 
 Life had suddenly come back to her ; for she 
 did not wish to appear in despair before others. 
 Besides, she pitied him now ; she dressed to ac- 
 company him, and found the strength to go and 
 see to his little child. 
 
 At four o'clock in the morning, when she re- 
 turned to throw herself on the bed, sleep sub- 
 dued her, for she was tired out. But that ma 
 ment of excessive joy had left an impression on 
 her mind, which, in spite of all, was permanent ; 
 she awoke soon with a shudder, rising a little 
 and partially recollecting — she knew not what. 
 News had come to her concerning her Yann. 
 In the midst of her confusion of ideas, she 
 
 sought rapidly in her mind what it could be, 
 
 26; 
 
The Second Wedding 
 
 but there was nothing save Fantec's interrup- 
 tion. 
 
 For the second time she fell back into her 
 terrible abyss, nothing changed in her morbid, 
 hopeless waiting. 
 
 Yet in that short, hopeful moment she had 
 felt him so near to her, that it was as if his spirit 
 had floated over the sea unto her, what is called 
 a foretoken (^pressigne) in Breton land ; and she 
 listened still more attentively to the steps outside, 
 trusting that some one might come to her to 
 speak of him. 
 
 Just as the day broke Yann's father entered. 
 He took off his cap, and pushed back his splen- 
 did white locks, which were in curls like Yann's, 
 and sat down by Gaud's bedside. 
 
 His heart ached fully, too, for Yann, his tall, 
 handsome Yann, was his first-bom, his favourite 
 and his pride ; but he did not despair yet. He 
 comforted Gaud in his own blunt, affectionate 
 way ; to begin with, those who had last returned 
 from Iceland spoke of the increasing dense fogs 
 that might well have delayed the vessel ; and 
 then, too, an idea struck him ; they might pos- 
 sibly have stopped at the distant Faroe Islands 
 on their homeward course, whence letters were 
 so long in travelling. This had happened to him 
 
 268 
 
The False Alarm 
 
 once forty years ago, and his own poor dead and 
 gone mother had had a mass said for his soul. 
 The Ldopoldine was such a good boat, next to 
 new, and her crew were such able-bodied seamen. 
 
 Granny Moan stood by them shaking her 
 head ; the distress of her granddaughter had 
 almost given her back her own strength and 
 reason ; she tidied up the place, glancing from 
 time to time at the faded portrait of Sylvestre, 
 which hung upon the granite wall with its anchor 
 emblems and mourning-wreath of black bead- 
 work. Ever since the sea had robbed her of her 
 own last oifspring she believed no longer in safe 
 returns; she only prayed through fear, bearing 
 Heaven a grudge in the bottom of her heart. 
 
 But Gaud listened eagerly to these consoling 
 reasonings ; her large sunken eyes looked with 
 deep tenderness out upon this old sire, who so 
 much resembled her beloved one ; merely to 
 have him near her was like a hostage against 
 death having taken the younger Gaos ; and she 
 felt reassured, nearer to her Yann. Her tears 
 fell softly and silently, and she repeated again 
 her passionate prayers to the " Star of the Sea." 
 
 A delay out at those islands to repair damages 
 
 was a very likely event. She rose and brushed 
 
 her hair, and then dressed as if she might fairly 
 
 269 
 
The Second Wedding 
 
 expect him. All then was not lost, if a seaman, 
 his own father, did not yet despair. And for a 
 few days, she resumed looking out for him again. 
 
 Autumn at last arrived, a late autumn too, its 
 gloomy evenings making all things appear dark 
 in the old cottage, and all the land looked som- 
 bre, too. 
 
 The very daylight seemed crepuscular; im- 
 measurable clouds, passing slowly overhead, dark- 
 ened the whole country at broad noon. The 
 wind blew constantly with the sound of a great 
 cathedral organ at a distance, but playing pro- 
 fane, despairing dirges ; at other times the noise 
 came close to the door, like the howling of wild 
 beasts. 
 
 She had grown pale, aye, blanched, and bent 
 
 more than ever, as if old age had already touched 
 
 her with its featherless wing. Often did she 
 
 finger the wedding clothes of her Yann, folding 
 
 and unfolding them again and again like some 
 
 maniac, especially one of his blue woollen jerseys, 
 
 which still had preserved his shape ; when she 
 
 threw it gently on the table, it fell with the 
 
 shoulders and chest well defined ; so she placed 
 
 it by itself in a shelf of their wardrobe, and left 
 
 k there, so that it might for ever rest unaltered. 
 
 Every night the cold mists sank upon the 
 270 
 
Wedded to the Sea 
 
 land, as she gazed over the depressing heath 
 through her little window, and watched the pal- 
 try puffs of white smoke arise from the chimneys 
 of other cottages scattered here and there on all 
 sides. There the husbands had returned, like 
 wandering birds driven home by the frost. Be- 
 fore their blazing hearths the evenings passed, 
 cosy and warm ; for the spring-time of love had 
 begun again in this land of North Sea fishermen. 
 Still clinging to the thought of those islands 
 where he might perhaps have lingered, she was 
 buoyed up by a kind hope and expected him 
 home any day. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 WEDDED TO THE SEA 
 
 But he never returned. One August night, 
 out off gloomy Iceland, mingled with the furious 
 clamour of the sea, his wedding with the sea was 
 performed. It had been his nurse ; it had rocked 
 him in his babyhood, and had afterward made 
 him big and strong; then, in his superb man- 
 hood, it had taken him back again for itself 
 alone. Profoundest mystery had surrounded this 
 unhallowed union. While it went on. dark cur- 
 
 231 
 
The Second Wedding 
 
 tains hung pall-like over it as if to conceal the 
 ceremony, and the ghoul howled in an awful 
 deafening voice to stifle his cries. He, thinking 
 of Gaud, his sole, darling wife, had battled with 
 giant strength against this deathly rival, until he 
 at last surrendered, with a deep death-cry like 
 the roar of a dying bull, through a mouth already 
 filled with water; and his arms were stretched 
 apart and stiffened for ever. 
 
 All those he had invited in days of old were 
 present at his wedding. All except Sylvestre, 
 who had gone to sleep in the enchanted gardens 
 far, far away, at the other side of the earth. 
 
 Sf% 
 
THE PORTRAITS OF 
 PIERRE LOTI 
 
 VOL. 20—14 
 
THE PORTRAITS OF 
 PIERRE LOTI 
 
 LoTi (Lotos) is the name 
 of an oceanic flower. By 
 this name did Queen 
 Pomar6 herself christen 
 Lieutenant Louis Marie 
 Julien Viaud during his 
 first visit to Tahiti. Since 
 then readers of Pierre 
 Loti have become famil- 
 iar with this pseudonym 
 with which the master 
 of dreams and exoticism 
 signed all his works. It 
 is unnecessary here to describe the gentle long- 
 ing for home, the moving tenderness^ the rare 
 charm, the oriental grace, which emanate from 
 the soul of this artist and traveller. Let us 
 rather turn to his portraits and learn what they can 
 tell us. We see before us a ipan, rather below 
 
 M. LOUIS MARIE JULIEN VIAUD 
 
 (Pierre Loti) 
 
 In the uniform of a naval officer 
 
 (1885). 
 
The Portraits of Pierre Loti 
 
 medium height, a slim, 
 graceful figure, with 
 head erect, and in the 
 face an expression of 
 determination, in which 
 at the same time there 
 is something of resig- 
 nation. The eyes — 
 those eyes which have 
 seen so many seas, so 
 many countries, such 
 PIERRE LOTI magnificent and varied 
 
 In the costume of an Academician. 
 After an engraving made in 1895. SCCnCry— haVC rCtamcd 
 
 that acuteness of per- 
 ception which is never dimmed in the pages of 
 his books. 
 
 Pierre Loti is among the number of those 
 who never read. Blest mortal, in whom is re- 
 flected all the beautiful landscapes, the supple 
 and graceful figures of the little Japanese dancers 
 with their ruddy hands, and those royal sunsets 
 of the Polynesian seas ! It is his fresh and im- 
 pressionable soul which gives to his face that 
 intense look in which one sees the solemn reflex 
 of those great and desolate wastes of Morocco, 
 and of Palestine, the magnificence of Japan, 
 the melancholy of Iceland, even the compli- 
 
 276 
 
The Portraits of Pierre Loti 
 
 cated pageantry of the pagodas and the tem- 
 ples. 
 
 On page 275 is a photograph of Loti as a 
 lieutenant in the navy, taken in 1885. It was 
 in this simple uniform, whose sombre colour ac- 
 corded well with his sailor's heart, that he took a 
 distinguished part in the expedition to Tonquin, 
 carrying with him through the world a heart full 
 of resignation and sweet fatalism. It was then 
 he wrote Fleurs cTEnnui^ Mon Frlre Yves, and 
 Picheurs d'Islande. In language fair and dis- 
 creet he tells of those exquisite Asiatic beauties, 
 fascinating women of his own creation, whose 
 names are Aziyad^, Rarahu, Sulenna, and Mme. 
 Chrysantheme. It is as sailor and traveller, 
 sometimes at Rochefort, at other times in Ice- 
 land or Pekin, that he is most appreciated by 
 those who enjoy in his books the unexpected 
 in his travels, the spontaneity of his confidences. 
 
 Pierre Loti as Academician, in the second' 
 portrait of our little gallery, seems less familiar 
 to us. The green coat that he wears does not 
 suit his manly face, tanned by the equatorial sun, 
 half so well as his sailor s uniform. This picture 
 represents Loti as the dweller in Paris, the fre- 
 quenter of the salons, homes of political and 
 academical intrigues. This is no longer the trav- 
 
 27/ 
 
The Portraits of Pierre Loti 
 
 eller, near kinsman of the Gerard de Nervals, 
 the Th^ophile Gautiers, the enthusiastic biog- 
 rapher of the humble lives of the old mariners, 
 the confidant of hearts and of nature in the far 
 East. Creature of a bygone age, well suited to 
 
 PIERRE LOTI 
 
 In his Oriental salon at Rochefort on-the-Sea. 
 After a photograph in 1890. 
 
 the days when the Thousand and One Nights 
 were as much fairy tales as realities, he was born 
 to live as Egyptian, or Arab. Who has not 
 heard the tale of how he once appeared at a 
 very select Parisian ball, dressed as a Pharaoh, 
 with all the gorgeous paraphernalia of a Ra- 
 meses ! 
 
 Our third engraving represents him dressed 
 as an Arab sheik, wrapped round in the folds of 
 
 278 
 
The Portraits of Pierre Loti 
 
 the ample white burnoose, superb and swaggering 
 in his attitude, and wearing at his side the tall 
 scimitar incrusted with jade and precious stones. 
 And behind him, does one not vaguely look for 
 his gentle Scheherezade ? Some, more wise than 
 others, have thought to discover her in Pierre 
 Loti himself. She is his muse ; she has long been 
 a tenant of that soul, sometimes puerile and 
 even childish. It is to this double sentiment 
 that the little portrait with which we close these 
 pages refers. 
 
 Be that as it may, Loti seems to us to have 
 the power to live the life of his heroes, and, to 
 the better understanding of them, himself to go 
 through their manifold transformations. At 
 Stamboul with Aziyad^, with Rarahu under the 
 voluptuous sky of Tahiti, in Japan with Mme. 
 Chrysantheme, he is always the dreaming wan- 
 derer, the confidential pilgrim of deserts and of 
 hearts. 
 
 It is curious that this man, who passes for a 
 poseur and vain, seems to have forgotten to have 
 himself photographed in the varied circumstances 
 of his travels ; there are fewer portraits of him 
 than of any other contemporary writer. In fact, 
 we found ourselves compelled to appeal to the 
 kindness of his friends to discover the very lim- 
 
 279 
 
The Portraits of Pierre Loti 
 
 ited number of portraits of him which we have 
 
 been able to reproduce here. 
 
 Scant kit, indeed, for such a globe-trotter as 
 
 Pierre Loti I 
 
 OCTAVE UZANNE. 
 
 Caricature of Pierre Loti 
 By Lucqu6 in 1895. 
 
 THE END 
 
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