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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..85b8f67 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #62667 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/62667) diff --git a/old/62667-0.txt b/old/62667-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index d1a0a8a..0000000 --- a/old/62667-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9718 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Tale of Brittany, by Pierre Loti - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: A Tale of Brittany - (Mon frère Yves) - -Author: Pierre Loti - -Translator: W. P. Baines - -Release Date: July 16, 2020 [EBook #62667] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TALE OF BRITTANY *** - - - - -Produced by Dagny and Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free -Literature (Images generously made available by Hathi -Trust.) - - - - - -A TALE OF -BRITTANY - - -[Illustration] - -A TALE OF -BRITTANY - -(MON FRÈRE YVES) - -BY -PIERRE LOTI - -TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY -W. P. BAINES - - -NEW YORK -FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY -PUBLISHERS - - - - -CONTENTS - -Chapter I -Chapter II -Chapter III -Chapter IV -Chapter V -Chapter VI -Chapter VII -Chapter VIII -Chapter IX -Chapter X -Chapter XI -Chapter XII -Chapter XIII -Chapter XIV -Chapter XV -Chapter XVI -Chapter XVII -Chapter XVIII -Chapter XIX -Chapter XX -Chapter XXI -Chapter XXII -Chapter XXIII -Chapter XXIV -Chapter XXV -Chapter XXVI -Chapter XXVII -Chapter XXVIII -Chapter XXIX -Chapter XXX -Chapter XXXI -Chapter XXXII -Chapter XXXIII -Chapter XXXIV -Chapter XXXV -Chapter XXXVI -Chapter XXXVII -Chapter XXXVIII -Chapter XXXIX -Chapter XL -Chapter XLI -Chapter XLII -Chapter XLIII -Chapter XLIV -Chapter XLV -Chapter XLVI -Chapter XLVII -Chapter XLVIII -Chapter XLIX -Chapter L -Chapter LI -Chapter LII -Chapter LIII -Chapter LIV -Chapter LV -Chapter LVI -Chapter LVII -Chapter LVIII -Chapter LIX -Chapter LX -Chapter LXI -Chapter LXII -Chapter LXIII -Chapter LXIV -Chapter LXV -Chapter LXVI -Chapter LXVII -Chapter LXVIII -Chapter LXIX -Chapter LXX -Chapter LXXI -Chapter LXXII -Chapter LXXIII -Chapter LXXIV -Chapter LXXV -Chapter LXXVI -Chapter LXXVII -Chapter LXXVIII -Chapter LXXIX -Chapter LXXX -Chapter LXXXI -Chapter LXXXII -Chapter LXXXIII -Chapter LXXXIV -Chapter LXXXV -Chapter LXXXVI -Chapter LXXXVII -Chapter LXXXVIII -Chapter LXXXIX -Chapter XC -Chapter XCI -Chapter XCII -Chapter XCIII -Chapter XCIV -Chapter XCV -Chapter XCVI -Chapter XCVII -Chapter XCVIII -Chapter XCIX -Chapter C -Chapter CI -Chapter CII - - - - -DEDICATION - - -To ALPHONSE DAUDET - - -Here is a little tale which I wish to dedicate to you. Accept it, I -pray, with my affection. - -It has been urged against my books that there is always in them too much -of the trouble of love. This time there is only a little love and that -an honest love and it comes only towards the end. - -It was you who gave me the idea of writing the life story of a sailor -and of putting into it the immense monotony of the sea. - -It may be that this book will make me enemies, although I have touched -as lightly as possible on the regulations of the service. But you who -love everything connected with the sea, even the wind and the fog and -the great waves--yes, and the brave and simple sailors--you, assuredly, -will understand me. And in that I shall find my recompense. - - -PIERRE LOTI. - - - - -A TALE OF BRITTANY - - -CHAPTER I - - -The pay-book of my brother Yves differs in no wise from the pay-book of -all other sailors. - -It is covered with a yellow-coloured parchment paper and, as it has -travelled much about the sea, in many a ship's locker, it is absolutely -wanting in freshness. - -In large letters on the cover appears: - - -KERMADEC, 2091. P. - - -Kermadec is his family name; 2091, his number in the army of the sea; -and P., the initial letter of Paimpol, the port at which he was -enrolled. - -Opening the book, one finds, on the first page, the following -description: - - -"Kermadec (Yves-Marie), son of Yves-Marie and Jeanne Danveoch. Born 28 -August, 1851, at Saint Pol-de-Léon (Finistère). Height 5 ft. 11 -inches. Hair brown, eyebrows brown, eyes brown, nose ordinary, chin -ordinary, forehead ordinary, face oval. - -"Distinctive marks: tattooed on the left breast with an anchor and, on -the right wrist, with a bracelet in the form of a fish." - - -These tattooings were still the fashion, some ten years ago, for your -true sailor. Executed on board the _Flore_ by a friend in an hour of -idleness, they became an object of mortification for Yves, who many a -time had tortured himself in an effort to obliterate them. The idea that -he was marked in this indelible manner, and that he might be recognized -always and everywhere by these little blue designs was to him absolutely -insupportable. - -Turning over the page one comes across a series of printed leaves -setting out, in a clear and concise form, all the shortcomings to which -sailors are subject, with, opposite them, the tariff of the penalties -incurred--from insignificant irregularities which may be expiated by a -few nights in irons to the dire rebellions which are punished by death. - -Unhappily this quotidian reading has never sufficed to inspire the -salutary awe which it should, either in sailors in general, or in my -poor Yves in particular. - -Follow several pages of manuscript containing the names of ships, with -blue stamp impressions, figures and dates. The quartermasters, men of -taste as they are, have decorated this part of the book with elegant -flourishes. It is here that particulars of his voyages are set out and -details of the pay he has received. - -The first years, in which he earned fifteen francs a month, ten of which -he saved for his mother; years passed in the onrush of the wind, in -which he lived half naked at the top of those great oscillating shafts -which are the masts of ships; years in which he wandered without a care -in the world over the changing desert of the sea; then the more troubled -years in which love was born and took shape in the virgin and untutored -heart--to be translated into brutal orgies or into dreams naïvely pure -according to the hazard of the places to which the wind drove him, -according to the hazard of the women thrown into his arms; terrible -awakenings of the heart and senses, wild excesses, and then the return -to the ascetic life of the ocean, to the sequestration on the floating -monastery; all this may be divined behind these figures and these names -and dates which accumulate, year by year, in the poor little pay-book of -a sailor. A whole poem of strange adventures and sufferings lies within -its yellow pages. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -The 28th of August, 1851, was, it seems, a fine summer's day at Saint -Pol-de-Léon, in Finistère. - -The pale sun of Brittany smiled and made festival for this little -newcomer, who later on was to love the sun so much, and to love Brittany -so much. - -Yves made his entrance into the world in the form of a large baby, very -round and very brown. The good women present at his arrival gave him the -name of _Bugel-Du_, which in English means: little black boy. This -bronzed colouring was, for that matter, characteristic of the family, -the Kermadecs from father to son, having been ocean-going sailors and -men deeply bitten by the tan of the sea. - -A fine summer's day in Saint Pol-de-Léon is a rare thing in this region -of fogs: a kind of melancholy radiance is shed over everything; the old -town of the Middle Ages is, as it were, awakened out of its mournful -slumber in the mist and made young again; the old granite warms itself -in the sun; the tower of Creizker, the giant of Breton towers, bathes in -the blue sky, in the full light, its delicate grey fretwork marbled with -yellow lichens. And all around is the wild moorland, with its pink -heather, its golden gorse, exhaling a soft perfume of flowering broom. - -At the baptism were a young girl, the godmother; a sailor, the -godfather; and, behind, the two little brothers, Goulven and Gildas, -holding by the hand the two little sisters, Yvonne and Marie, who -carried flowers. - -When the little company entered the old church of the bishops of Léon, -the verger, hanging on the rope of a bell, made ready to start the -joyous carillon called for by the occasion. But the Curé, coming on the -scene, said to him harshly: - -"Be quiet, Marie Bervrac'h, for the love of God! These Kermadecs are -people who never give anything to the Church, and the father wastes all -his substance in the tavern. We'll have no ringing, if you please, for -people of that sort." - -And that is how my brother Yves made his entrance into the world in the -guise of poverty. - -Jeanne Danveoch, from her bed, listened with uneasiness, waited with a -foreboding of ill, for the vibrations of the bell which were so slow to -begin. For a long time she listened and heard nothing. Then she -understood the public affront and wept. - -Her eyes were wet with tears when the party returned, crestfallen, to -the house. - -All his life this humiliation weighed upon the heart of Yves; he was -never able to forgive this unkind reception at his entrance into the -world, nor the cruel tears shed by his mother; and as a result he -preserved for the Roman clergy an unforgetting rancour and closed his -Breton heart to Our Mother the Church. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -It was twenty-four years later, on an evening of December, at Brest. - -A fine rain was falling, cold, penetrating, continuous; it streamed down -the walls, rendering deeper in colour the high-pitched roofs of slate, -and the tall houses of granite; it watered with calm indifference the -noisy crowd of the Sunday, which swarmed nevertheless, wet and -bedraggled, in the narrow streets, beneath the mournful grey of the -twilight. - -This Sunday crowd consisted of inebriated sailors singing, of soldiers -who stumbled, making with their sabres a clatter of steel, of people of -the lower class adrift--workers of the town looking drawn and miserable; -women in little merino shawls and pointed muslin head-dresses, who -walked along with shining eyes and reddened cheek bones, exhaling an -odour of brandy; of old men and old women in a disgusting state of -drunkenness, who had fallen and been picked up, and were lurching -forward, on their way, with backs covered with mud. - -The rain continued to fall, wetting everything, the silver-buckled hats -of the Bretons, the tilted bonnets of the sailors, the laced shakos and -the white head-dresses, and the umbrellas. - -There was something so wan, so dead, about the air, that it was -difficult to imagine that there could be anywhere a sun . . . the notion -of it had gone. There was a feeling that you were imprisoned under -layers and thicknesses of dense, humid clouds which were deluging you. -It did not seem that they would ever be able to break, or that behind -them there could be a sky. You breathed water. You were no longer -conscious of the hour, and knew not whether the darkness was the -darkness of all this rain or whether the real winter's night was closing -in. - -The sailors brought into the streets a certain rather surprising note of -gaiety and youth, with their cheery faces and their songs, with their -large bright collars and their red pompoms standing out in sharp -contrast with the navy blue of their uniform. They went and came from -one tavern to another, jostling the crowd, saying things which had no -sense but which made them laugh. And sometimes they stopped on the -footpath, before the stalls of the shops where were retailed the hundred -and one things they needed for their use: red handkerchiefs, in the -middle of which were imprinted designs of famous ships, _Bretagne, -Triomphante, Devastation_; ribbons for their bonnets with handsome -inscriptions in gold; cords of complicated workmanship destined to close -securely those canvas sacks which they have on board for storing their -kit; elegant attachments in plaited thread for suspending from the neck -of the topmen their large knives; silver whistles for the -petty-officers, and finally, red belts and little combs and little -mirrors. - -From time to time came heavy squalls which sent bonnets flying and made -the drunken passers-by stagger. And then the rain came down more -heavily, more torrentially, and whipped like hail. - -The crowd of sailors steadily increased. They could be seen coming on in -groups at the end of the Rue de Siam; they ascended from the port and -from the lower town by the great granite stairways, and spread singing -into the streets. - -Those who came from the roadstead were wetter than the others, dripping -with sea-water as well as with rain. The sailing cutters, bending to the -cold squalls, leaping amid waves deep-edged with spray, had brought them -quickly into port. And joyously they climbed the steps which led to the -town, shaking themselves as cats do which have been sprinkled with -water. - -The wind rushed through the long drab streets, and the night promised to -be a wild one. - -In the roadstead--on board a ship which had arrived that very morning -from South America--on the stroke of four o'clock, a petty officer had -given a prolonged whistle, followed by cleverly executed trills, which -signified in the language of the sea: "Man the launch!" Then a murmur of -joy was heard in the ship, where the sailors were penned, on account of -the rain, in the gloom of the spar-deck. For there had been a fear for a -time that the sea might be too rough for communication with Brest, and -the men had been waiting anxiously for this whistle which set their -doubts at rest. For the first time, after three years of voyage, they -were about to set foot on the land of France, and impatience was great. - -When the men appointed, clothed in little costumes of yellow oilskin, -were all embarked in the launch and had taken their places in correct -and symmetrical order, the same petty officer whistled again and said: -"Liberty-men, fall in!" - -The wind and the sea made a great noise; the distances of the roadstead -were drowned in a whitish fog made of spray and rain. - -The sailors who had received permission to go ashore ascended quickly, -issued from the hatches and took their places in line, as their numbers -and names were called, with faces beaming with the joy of seeing Brest -again. They had put on their Sunday clothes; they completed, under the -torrential downpour, the last details of their toilet, setting one -another right with airs of coquetry. - -When "218: Kermadec!" was called, Yves appeared, a strapping youngster -of twenty-four, grave in mien, looking very well in his ribbed woollen -jersey and his large blue collar. - -Tall, lean with the leanness of the ancients, with the muscular arms and -the neck and shoulders of an athlete, his whole appearance gave an -impression of tranquil and slightly disdainful strength. His face, -beneath its uniform coat of bronze, was colourless; in some subtle way -impossible to define, a Breton face, with the complexion of an Arab. -Curt in speech, with the accent of Finistère; a low voice curiously -vibrant, recalling those instruments of very powerful sound, which one -touches only very lightly for fear of making too much noise. - -Hazel eyes, rather close together and very deep-set beneath the frontal -bone, with the impassive expression of a regard turned inwards; the nose -small and regular in shape; the lower lip protruding slightly as if in -scorn. - -The face immobile, marmorean, save in those rare moments when he smiles. -Then the whole face is transformed, and one sees that Yves is very -young. The smile itself is the smile of those who have suffered: it has -a childlike gentleness and lights up the hardened features a little as -the rays of the sun, falling by chance, light up the cliffs of Brittany. - -When Yves appeared the other sailors who were there regarded him with -good-humoured smiles and an unusual air of respect. - -This was because he wore for the first time on his sleeve the two red -stripes of a petty officer, which had just been awarded him. And on -board ship a petty officer is a person of consequence. These poor -woollen stripes, which, in the army, are given so quickly to the first -comer, represent in the navy years of hardship; they represent the -strength and the life of young men, expended at every hour of the day -and night, high up in the crow's nest, that domain of the topmen which -is shaken by all the winds of heaven. - -The boatswain, coming up, held out his hand to Yves. Formerly he also -had been a topmen inured to hardness, and he was a shrewd judge of -strong and courageous men. - -"Well, Kermadec," he said. "You are going to water those stripes of -yours, I suppose?" - -"Yes, bo'sun," replied Yves in a low voice, but preserving a grave and -abstracted air. - -It was not the rain from heaven that the old boatswain had in mind; for, -as far as that went, the watering was assured. No, in the navy, to water -your stripes means to get drunk in order to do them honour on the first -day they are worn. - -Yves remained thoughtful in the face of the necessity of this ceremony, -because he had just sworn to me very solemnly that he would be sober, -and he wanted to keep his promise. - -And then he had had enough, at last, of these tavern scenes which had -been repeated so many times in all the countries of the world. To spend -one's nights in low pot-houses, at the head of the wildest and most -drunken of the crew, and to be picked up in the gutter in the -morning--one tires of these pleasures after a time, however good a -sailor one may be. Besides the mornings following are painful and are -always the same; and Yves knew that and wanted no more of them. - -It was very gloomy, this December weather, for a day of return. Of no -avail was it to be carefree and young, the weather cast over the joy of -homecoming a kind of sinister night. Yves experienced this impression, -which caused him, in spite of himself, a mournful surprise; for all -this, in sum, was his own Brittany; he felt it in the air and recognised -it despite this darkness of dreamland. - -The launch moved off, carrying them all towards the shore. It travelled -aslant under the west wind; it bounded over the waves with the hollow -sound of a drum, and, at each leap that it made, a mass of water broke -over them, as if it had been hurled by furious hands. - -They made their way very rapidly in a kind of cloud of water, the large -salt drops of which lashed their faces. They bowed their heads before -this deluge, huddled close one against the other, like sheep in a storm. - -They did not speak, all concentrated as they were on the prospect of the -pleasure that awaited them. There were among them young men, who, for a -year past, had not set foot on land; the pockets of all of them were -well-lined with money, and fierce desires bubbled in their blood. - -Yves himself thought a little of the women who were waiting for them in -Brest, and from among whom presently they would be able to choose. But, -nevertheless, he was gloomy, he alone of all the band. Never had so many -thoughts at one time troubled the head of this poor simpleton. - -It is true that he had had melancholy moods of this kind sometimes, -during the silence of the nights at sea; but then the return had -appeared to him from the distance in colours of rose and gold. And here, -to-day, was the return and, on the contrary, his heart was sadder now -than it had ever been before. And this he did not understand, for he had -the habit, as the simple and as children have, of suffering his -impressions without attempting to interpret them. - -With head turned towards the wind, heedless of the water which streamed -down his blue collar, he had remained standing, supported by the group -of sailors who pressed close against him. - -All this coast-line of Brest, which could be distinguished in vague -contours through the veil of the rain, awoke in him memories of his -years as ship-boy, passed here on this great misty roadstead, pining for -his mother. . . . This past had been rough, and, for the first time in -his life, his thoughts turned to what the future might be. - -His mother! ... It was true indeed that for nearly two years he had not -written to her. But that is the way with sailors; and, in spite of all, -these mothers of theirs are very dear to them. What usually happens is -this: they disappear for a few years, and then, one happy day, they -return, without warning, to the village, with stripes on their sleeve -and pockets full of hard-earned money, and bring back happiness and -comfort to the old forsaken home. - -They sped on through the freezing rain, leaping over the grey waves, -pursued by the whistling of the wind and the roar of the water. - -Yves was thinking of many things, and his fixed eyes now saw nothing. -The image of his mother had all at once taken on an infinite tenderness; -he felt that she was now quite near to him, in a little Breton village, -under this same winter twilight which enveloped him; in two or three -days from now, he would go, with an overmastering joy, to surprise her -and take her in his arms. - -The tossing of the sea, the wind and speed, rendered his changing -thoughts incoherent. At one moment he was disconcerted to find his -country under a sky so gloomy. During his voyage he had become used to -the heat and blue clearness of the tropics, and, here, it seemed that -there was a shroud casting a sinister night over the world. - -And a little later he was telling himself that he did not want to drink -any more, not that there was any harm in it after all, and, in any case, -it was the custom among Breton sailors; but, first of all, he had given -me his word, and secondly, at twenty-four, one is a grown man and has -had a full draught of pleasure, and it seems that one feels the need of -becoming a little more steady. - -Then he thought of the astonished looks of the others on board, -especially of Barrada, his great friend, when they saw him return -to-morrow morning, upright and walking straight. At this comical idea, a -childlike smile passed suddenly over his grave and manly face. - -They had now arrived almost under the Castle of Brest and, in the -shelter of the enormous masses of granite, there was suddenly calm. The -cutter no longer rocked; it proceeded tranquilly through the rain; its -sails were hauled down, and the men in yellow oilskins took over its -management with rhythmic strokes of their long oars. - -Before them opened that deep and dismal bay which is the naval port; on -the quays were alignments of cannon and of formidable-looking maritime -things. All around nothing but high and interminable constructions of -granite, all alike, overhanging the dark water and staged one above the -other with rows of little doors and little windows. Above these again, -the first houses of Brest and Recouvrance showed their wet roofs, from -which issued little trails of white smoke. They proclaimed their damp -and cold misery, and the wind rushed all about with a great dismal -moaning. - -It was now quite dark and the little gas flames began to pink with -bright yellow dots these accumulations of dark things. The sailors could -already hear the rumbling of the traffic and the noise of the town which -came to them from above the deserted dockyard, mingled with the songs of -drunken men. - -Yves, out of prudence, had entrusted to his friend Barrada on board all -his money, which he was saving for his mother, keeping in his pocket -only fifty francs for his night ashore. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -"And my husband also, Madame Quéméneur, when he is drunk, sleeps all -day long." - -"So you have come out too, Madame Kervella?" - -"Yes, I also am waiting for my husband, who arrived to-day on the -_Catinat._" - -"And my man, Madame Kerdoncuff, the day he returned from China, slept -for two whole days; and I, you know, got drunk too, Madame Kerdoncuff. -Oh! and how ashamed of myself I was! And my daughter, also, she fell -down the stairs!" - -And these things, spoken in the singing and musical accent of Brest, are -exchanged under old umbrellas straining in the wind, between women in -waterproofs and pointed muslin head-dresses, who are waiting above, at -the top of the wide granite steps. - -Their husbands have come on that same boat which has brought Yves, and -their wives are waiting for them; fortified already by a little brandy, -they are on the watch, their eyes half merry and half tender. - -These old sailors whom they await were once perhaps gallant topmen -inured to hardship; but demoralized by their sojourns in Brest and by -drunkenness, they have married these creatures and sunk into the sordid -slums of the town. - -Behind these women there are other groups again on which the eye rests -with pleasure; young women of quiet mien, real sailors' wives these, -wrapt in the joy of seeing once more a sweetheart or a husband, and -gazing with anxiety into the great yawning cavern of the port, out of -which their beloved ones will come to them. And there are mothers, come -from the villages, wearing their pretty Breton festival dresses, the -wide coif and the gown of black silk embroidered cloth; the rain will -spoil them to be sure, these fine trappings, which are renewed perhaps -not more than twice in a lifetime; but it is necessary to do honour to -this son whom presently they will embrace before the others. - -"See there! The men from the _Magicien_ are now entering the harbour, -Madame Kerdoncuff!" - -"And those from the _Catinat_ also, do you see! They are following one -another, Madame Quéméneur!" - -Below, deep down, the launches come alongside the black quay, and those -who are awaited are among the first to ascend. - -First the husbands of these good ladies. Way for the seniors, let them -pass out first! Tar, and wind and sun and brandy have given them the -wrinkled physiognomies of monkeys. . . . And they go their way, arm in -arm, in the direction of Recouvrance, to some gloomy old street of tall -granite houses; presently they will climb to a damp room which smells of -gutters and the mustiness of poverty, where on the furniture are shell -ornaments covered with dust and bottles pell-mell with strange -knick-knacks. And thanks to the alcohol bought at the tavern below, they -will find oblivion of this cruel separation in a renewal of their youth. - -Then come the others, the young men for whom sweethearts are waiting, -and wives and old mothers, and, at last, four by four, climbing the -granite steps, the whole band of wild lads, whom Yves is taking to -celebrate his stripes. - -And those who are waiting for them, for this little band of hot-blooded -youth, are in the Rue de Sept Saints, already at their door and on the -watch: women whose hair is worn with a fringe combed down to the -eyebrows--with tipsy voices and horrible gestures. - -Before the night is out, these women will have their strength, their -restrained passions--and their money. For your sailormen pay well on the -day of their return, and over and above what they give, there is what -one may take afterwards, when by good luck they are quite drunk. - -They look about them undecided, almost bewildered, drunk already merely -from finding themselves on shore. - -Where should they go? How should they begin their pleasures? This wind, -this cold rain of winter and this sinister fall of the night--for those -who have a home, a fireside, all that adds to the joy of the return. To -these poor fellows it brought the need for a shelter, for somewhere -where they could warm themselves; but they were without a home, these -returning exiles. - -At first they wandered at hazard, linked arm in arm, laughing at -nothing, at everything, walking obliquely from right and left--with the -movements of captive beasts which have just been set free. - -Then they entered _À la Descente des Navires_, presided over by Madame -Creachcadec. - -_À la Descente des Navires_ was a low tavern in the Rue de Siam. - -The warm atmosphere savoured of alcohol. There was a coal fire in a -brazier, and Yves sat down in front of it. This was the first time, for -two or three years past, that he had sat in a chair. And a real fire! -How he revelled in the quite unusual luxury of drying himself before -glowing coals. On board ship, there was never a chance of it; not even -in the great cold of Cape Horn or of Iceland; not even in the -persistent, penetrating rains of the high latitudes were they ever able -to dry themselves. For days and nights on end, they remained wet -through; doing their best to keep on the move, until the sun should -shine. - -She was a real mother to the sailors, was this Madame Creachcadec; all -who knew her could vouch for it. And she was very exact, too, in the -prices she charged for their dinners and their feastings. - -Besides, she knew them. Her large red face flushed already with alcohol, -she tried to repeat their names, which she heard them saying among -themselves; she remembered quite well having seen them when they were -boatmen on board the _Bretagne_; she even thought she could recall their -boyhood, when they were ship-boys on the _Inflexible._ But what tall, -fine fellows they had grown since those days! Truly it was only an eye -like hers that could recognize them, altered as they were. . . . - -And, at the back of the tavern, the dinner was cooking, on stoves which -already sent out an appetising odour of soup. - -From the street came sounds of a great uproar. A band of sailors was -approaching, singing, scanning at the top of their voices, to a -frivolous air, these words of the Church: '_Kyrie Christe, Dominum -nostrum; Kyrie eleison_. . . . - -They entered, upsetting the chairs, and at the same time a gust of wind -laid low the flame of the lamps. - -_Kyrie Christe, Dominum nostrum_. . . . The Bretons did not like this -kind of song, brought no doubt from the back streets of some great city. -But the discordance between the words and the music was so droll, it -made them laugh. - -The newcomers, however, were from the _Gauloise_, and recognized, and -were recognized by, the others; they had all been ship-boys together. -One of them hastened to embrace Yves: it was Kerboul who had slept in -the next hammock to him on board the _Inflexible._ He, too, had become -tall and strong; he was on the flagship, and, as he was a steady sort of -fellow, he had for a long time worn red stripes on his sleeve. - -The air in the tavern was oppressive and there was a great deal of -noise. Madame Creachcadec brought hot wine all steaming, the preliminary -to the dinner that had been ordered, and heads began to swim. - -There was commotion this night in Brest: the patrols were kept busy. - -In the Rue de Sept Saints and in the Rue de Saint Yves, singing and -shouting went on until the morning; it was as if barbarians had been -loosed there, bands escaped from ancient Gaul; there were scenes of -rejoicing that recalled the boisterousness of primitive times. - -The sailors sang. And the women, their fingers itching for the pieces of -gold--agitated, dishevelled in this great excitation of the sailors' -homecoming--mingled their shrill voices with the deep voices of the men. - -The latest arrivals from the sea might be recognized by their deeper -tint of bronze, by their freer carriage; and then they carried with them -objects of foreign origin; some of them passed with bedraggled parakeets -in cages; others with monkeys. - -They sang, these sailors, at the top of their voices, with a kind of -naïve expression, things that made one shudder, or perhaps little airs -of the south, songs of the Basque country, and, above all, they sang -mournful Breton melodies which seemed like old bagpipe airs bequeathed -from Celtic antiquity. - -The simple, the good, sang part songs together; they remained grouped by -village, and repeated in their native tongue the long laments of the -country, preserving even in their drunkenness their fine resonant young -voices. Others stuttered like little children and embraced one another; -unconscious of their strength they smashed doors and knocked down -passers-by. - -The night was advancing; only places of ill-repute remained open; and in -the streets the rain continued to fall on the exuberance of these wild -rejoicings. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -Six o'clock on the following morning. A dark mass having the form of a -man in the gutter--by the side of a kind of deserted street overhung by -ramparts. It is still dark. The rain still falls, fine and cold; and the -winter wind continues to roar. It had "watched," as they say in the -navy, and passed the night in groaning. - -It was in the lower part of the town, a little below the bridge of -Brest, at the foot of the great walls, in that locality where sailors -commonly find themselves, who are without a home and who have had the -vague intention, blind drunk as they were, of returning to their ship -and have fallen en route. - -There is already a kind of half light in the air; a wan, pallid light, -the light of a winter's day rising on granite. Water was streaming over -this human form which lay on the ground, and, right at its side, poured -in a cascade into the opening of a drain. - -It began to get a little brighter; a sort of light made up its mind to -descend along the high granite walls. The dark thing in the gutter was -now clearly seen to be the body of a tall man, a sailor, lying with arms -outstretched in the form of a cross. - -A first passer-by made a sound of wooden sabots on the hard pavé, as of -someone staggering. Then another, then many. They followed all the same -direction in a lower street which led to the gate of the naval dockyard. - -Soon this tapping of sabots became a thing extraordinary; a fatiguing, -continuous noise, hammering the silence like a nightmare music. - -Hundreds and hundreds of sabots, tramping before daylight, coming from -everywhere, and passing along the street below; a kind of early morning -procession of evil import: it was the workers returning to the dockyard, -still staggering from having drank so much the night before, the gait -unsteady, the eyes lustreless. - -And there were women also, ugly, pale, and wet, who went to right and -left as if seeking someone: in the half light they peered into the faces -of the men--waiting and watching there, to see if the husband, or the -son, had at last come out of the taverns, if he was going to do his -day's work. - -The man lying in the gutter was also examined by them; two or three bent -over him so that they might better distinguish his face. They saw -features youthful but weatherbeaten, and set now in a corpse-like -fixity, the lips contracted, the teeth clenched. No, they did not know -him. And in any case he was not a workman, this man; he wore the large -blue collar of a sailor. - -One of them, nevertheless, who had a son a sailor, tried, out of -kindness of heart, to drag him from the water. He was too heavy. - -"What a big corpse!" she said as she let his arms drop. - -This body on which had fallen all the rain of the night was Yves. - -A little later, when it was full daylight, his comrades, who were -passing, recognized him and carried him away. - -They laid him, all soaked with the water of the gutter, at the bottom of -the cutter, itself wet from the spray of the sea, and quickly they put -off with canvas spread. - -The sea was rough; there was a head wind. They beat to windward for a -long time, and were hard put to it to reach their ship. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -Yves awoke slowly towards evening. He had first of all sensations of -suffering, which came one by one, as after a kind of death. He was cold, -cold to the marrow of his bones. - -Above all he was bruised and battered and benumbed--stretched for some -hours now on a hard bed: and he made a first effort, scarcely conscious, -to turn over. But his left foot, in which suddenly he felt a sharp pain, -was caught in a rigid thing against which he realized at once it was -vain to struggle. And he recognized the sensation: he understood now: he -was in irons. - -He was already familiar with the inevitable morrow of wild nights of -pleasure: to be shackled by a ring to an iron bar for days on end! And -this place in which he must be, he divined it without taking the trouble -to open his eyes, this recess narrow as a cupboard, and dark, and damp, -with its fusty smell, and its dim pale light falling from an opening -above: the hold of the _Magicien._ - -But he confused this to-morrow with others which had been spent -elsewhere--far away, at the other side of the earth, in America, or in -the ports of China. . . . Was this for thrashing the alguazils of Buenos -Ayres? Or was it that sanguinary fight at Rosario which had brought him -to this? Or, again, the affair with the Russian sailors at Hong-Kong? He -was not very clear, to a thousand miles or so, having forgotten in what -part of the world he was. - -All the winds and all the waves of the sea had carried the _Magicien_ to -all the countries of the world; they had shaken it, rolled it, battered -it from without, but without succeeding in disturbing the various things -which were within this hold--without displacing the diver's dress which -must be there hanging behind him, with its great eyes and morse-like -head, and without changing the smell of rats, of damp, and tar. - -He still felt very cold, so horribly cold that it was like a pain in his -bones. And he realized that his clothes were wet and his body also. The -pitiless rain of the preceding night, the wind, the darkling sky, -returned vaguely to his memory. . . . He was not after all in the blue -countries of the Equator! He remembered now. He was in France, in -Brittany. This was the return of which he had so long dreamed. - -But what had he done to be in irons already, almost before he had set -foot on his native land? He tried to remember but could not. Then -suddenly a recollection came to him, as of a dream: when they were -hoisting him on board, he pulled himself together a little, and said -that he would climb unaided, and then, as ill-luck would have it, he -found himself face to face with a certain old warrant officer whom he -held in aversion. And straightway he had fallen to abusing him most -vilely; then there had been some sort of scuffle and what happened -afterwards he did not know, for at that moment he had fallen inert again -and lost consciousness. - -But then ... the leave that had been promised him to go to his village -of Plouherzel would not now be given him! . . . All the things for which -he had hoped, for which he had longed, during three years of misery, -were lost! He thought of his mother and his heart smote him sorely; his -eyes opened bewildered, seeing only what was within, dilated in a -strange fixity by a tumult of interior things. And, in the hope that it -was only an evil dream, he tried to shake his tortured foot in its iron -ring. - -Then a burst of laughter, deep and resonant, went off like a firework in -the dark hold: a man, clothed in a woollen jersey fitting close to his -body, was standing beside Yves and looking at him. As he laughed he -threw back his handsome head and showed his white teeth with a feline -expression. - -"Hello! so you are waking up?" asked the man in a sarcastic voice, which -vibrated with the accent of Bordeaux. - -Yves recognized his friend Jean Barrada, the gunner, and looking up at -him he asked _if I knew._ - -"Tut! Tut!" said Barrada in his chaffing Gascon way. "Does he know? He -has been down three times and even brought the doctor here to have a -look at you; you were like a log and we were frightened about you. And I -am on duty here to let him know if you move." - -"What for? I don't want him or anyone. Don't go, Barrada, do you -understand, I forbid you!" - - -And so it had happened again. He had come to grief once more, and once -more through his old failing. And, on every one of the rare occasions on -which he set foot on shore, it fell out thus and it seemed that he could -not help it. It must be true, what had been said to him, that this habit -was a terrible and a fatal one, and that a man was lost indeed when once -it had taken hold of him. In rage against himself he twisted his -muscular arms until they cracked; he half raised himself, grinding his -teeth; and then he fell back striking his head against the hard planks. -Oh! his poor mother, she was now quite near to him and he would not see -her, despite his longing of the last three years! . . . And this was his -return to France! What anguish and what misery! - -"At least you must change your clothes," said Barrada. "To remain wet -through as you are won't do you any good. You will be ill." - -"So much the better, Barrada! Leave me alone." - -He spoke harshly, his eyes dark and menacing; and Barrada, who knew him -well, realized that the best thing to do was to leave him. - -Yves turned his head and for a time buried his face in his upraised -arms. Then, fearful lest Barrada should imagine he was weeping, out of -pride he altered his position and gazed straight in front of him. His -eyes, in their wearied atony, kept a fierce fixity, and his lower lip, -protruded more than usual, expressed the savage defiance which in his -heart he was hurling at all the world. He was forming evil projects in -his head; ideas which he had already conceived in former days, in hours -of rebellion and despair, returned to him. - -Yes, he would go away, like his brother Goulven, like both his brothers. -This time he had made up his mind, irrevocably. The life of those -sea-rovers whom he had encountered on the whale-boats of Oceania, or in -places of pleasure in the towns of La Plata, that life lived in the -hazard of the sea without law and without restraint, had for a long time -attracted him. It was in his blood for that matter; it was a thing -inherited. - -To desert and sail the sea in a trading ship abroad, or to take part in -the ocean fishing, that is ever the dream which obsesses sailors, and -the best of them especially, in their moments of revolt. - -There are good times in America for deserters. He would not be -successful, of that, in his bitterness, he felt sure; for he was -ordained to toil and misfortune; but, if poverty must be his lot, out -there at least he would be free! - -His mother! Yes, in his dash for freedom, he would steal as far as -Plouherzel, in the night, and embrace her. In this again like his -brother Goulven, who had done the same thing many years before. He -remembered having seen him arrive one night, like a fugitive; he had -remained concealed during the day of farewell which he had spent at his -home. Their poor mother had wept bitterly, it is true. But what was -there to do? It was fate. And this brother Goulven, how forceful he -looked and how manly! - -Except his mother, Yves at this moment held all the world in hate. He -thought of those years of his life spent in the service, in the -confinement of ships of war, under the whip of discipline; he asked -himself for whose profit and why. His heart overflowed with the -bitterness of despair, with desire for vengeance, with a rage to be -free. . . . And, as I was the cause of his re-engaging for five years in -the navy, he fumed against me and included me in his resentment against -the world in general. - -Barrada had left him and the darkness of a December night came on. -Through the hatch of the hold the grey light of day was no longer to be -seen; only a damp mist now descended, which was icy cold. - -A patrol had come and lit a lantern in a wire cage, and the objects in -the hold were illumined confusedly. Yves heard above him the evening -assembly, the slinging of the hammocks, and then the first cry of the -men of the watch marking the half-hours of the night. - -Outside the wind was still blowing, and as gradually silence overtook -the business of men, the great unconscious voices of things became more -perceptible. High up there was a continuous roaring in the rigging; and -one heard the sea which lay all about us and which, from time to time, -shook everything, as if in impatience. At every shock, it rolled Yves' -head on the damp wood, and he put his hands underneath so that he might -suffer less. - -Even the sea, this night, was angry and vicious; it beat against the -sides of the ship with a continuous noise. - -At this hour no one, surely, would descend again into the hold. Yves was -alone, stretched on the floor, fettered, his foot in the iron ring, and -his teeth now were chattering. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -Nevertheless, an hour afterwards, Jean Barrada reappeared, ostensibly to -arrange one of those tackles which are used for the guns. - -And this time, Yves called him in a low voice: - -"Barrada, you might, like a good fellow, get me a drink of water." - -Barrada went quickly to fetch his little mug, which during the day he -carried on his belt and which he put away at night in a gun; he poured -into it some water which was of the colour of rust, having been brought -from La Plata in an iron tank, and a little wine stolen from the -steward's room, and a little sugar stolen from the Commander's office. - -And then with much kindness and very gently, he raised Yves' head and -gave him to drink. - -"And now," he said, "won't you change your clothes?" - -"Yes," replied Yves, in a meek voice, which had become almost childlike, -and sounded odd by contrast with his manner of a short time before. - -He helped him to undress, humouring him as one might a child. He dried -his chest, his shoulders and his arms, put him on dry clothes, and made -him lie down again, first placing a sack under his head so that he might -be able to sleep easier. - -When Yves murmured his thanks, an amiable smile, the first, passed over -his face, changing its whole expression. It was over now. His heart was -softened and he was himself again. To-day the change had come more -quickly than usual. - -He felt an infinite tenderness as he thought of his mother, and he -wanted to cry; something like a tear even came into his eyes, which were -not used to yield to this weakness. . . . Perhaps after all a little -indulgence would again be shown him, on account of his good conduct on -board, on account of his endurance in hardship, and of his arduous work -in rough weather. If it were possible--if he was not given too harsh a -punishment, it was certain he would not repeat his offence and that he -would earn forgiveness. - -It was a strong resolution this time. It needed but a single glass of -brandy, after the long abstinences of the sea, to make him lose his head -at once; and then the devil in him drove him to drink another, and -another again. But if he did not begin, if he never drank again, he -would have a sure means of keeping steady. - -His repentance had the sincerity of the repentance of a child, and he -persuaded himself that, if he escaped this time from the dread court -martial which consigns sailors to prison, this would be his last great -fault. - -He hoped also in me and, above all, wanted earnestly to see me. He -begged Barrada to go up and fetch me. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Yves had been my friend for seven years when he celebrated in this way -his return to his native land. - -We had entered the navy by different doors: he two years before I did, -although he was some months younger. - -The day on which I arrived at Brest, to don there that first naval -uniform, which I see still, I met Yves Kermadec by chance at the house -of a patron of his, an old Commander who had known his father. Yves was -then a boy of sixteen. I was told that he was about to become a -probationer after two years as a ship-boy. He had just returned from his -home, on the expiration of eight days' leave which had been given him; -his heart seemed to be very full of the good-byes he had lately bidden -his mother. This and our age, which was almost the same, were two points -we had in common. - -A little later, having become a midshipman, I came across him again on -my first ship. He was then grown into a man and serving as a topman. And -I chose him for my hammock man. - -For a midshipman, the hammock man is the sailor allotted to hang each -evening his little suspended bed and to take it down in the morning. - -Before removing the hammock, it is naturally necessary to awaken the -sleeper within it and to ask him to get out. This is usually done by -saying to him: - -"It is réveillé, captain." - -This phrase has to be repeated many times before it produces its effect. -Afterwards, the hammock man carefully rolls up the little bed and takes -it away. - -Yves performed this service very tactfully. I used also to meet him -daily for the drill, aloft on the main top. - -There was a solidarity at that time between the midshipmen and the -topmen; and, during the long voyages especially, such as those we were -making, the relations between us became very cordial. On shore, in the -strange places in which sometimes, at night, we came across our topmen, -we were used to call them to our aid when there was danger or an -adventure took an ugly look, and then, thus united, we could lay down -the law. - -In such cases, Yves was our most valuable ally. - -His service records, however, were not excellent. "Exemplary on board; a -most capable and sailor-like man; but his conduct on shore is -impossible." Or: "Has shown admirable pluck and devotion," and then: -"Undisciplined, uncontrollable." Elsewhere: "Zeal, honour, and -fidelity," with "Incorrigible" in regard, etc. His nights in irons, his -days in prison were beyond counting. - -Morally as well as physically, large, strong, and handsome, but with -some irregularities in details. - -On board he was an indefatigable topman, always at work, always -vigilant, always quick, always clean. - -On shore, if there was a sailor out of hand, riotous, drunk, it was -always he; if a sailor was picked up in the morning in the gutter, half -naked, stripped of his clothes as one might strip a corpse, by negroes -sometimes, at other times by Indians or Chinese, again it was always he. -The sailor absent without leave, who fought with the police, or used his -knife against the alguazils, again and always it was he. ... All kinds -of mad escapades were familiar to him. - -At first I was amused at the things this Kermadec did. When he went -ashore with his friends it would be asked in the midshipmen's quarters: -"What fresh tale shall we hear to-morrow morning? In what condition will -they return?" And I used to say to myself: "My hammock will not be fixed -for me for two days at least." - -It did not matter about the hammock. But this fellow Kermadec was so -devoted, he seemed so good-hearted, that I began to be genuinely -attached to him, rough sea-rover as he seemed to be and tipsy as he so -often was. I no longer laughed at his more serious misdeeds, and would -gladly have prevented them. - -When this first voyage together was ended and we separated, it happened -that chance brought us together again on another ship. And then I grew -almost to love him. - -There were, moreover, two circumstances in this second voyage which -helped greatly to unite us. - -The first was at Montevideo one morning before daybreak. Yves had been -on shore since the previous evening, and I was approaching the quay in a -pinnace manned by sixteen men, for the purpose of laying in a supply of -fresh water. - -I can recall the bleak half light of the dawn, the sky already luminous -but still starry, the deserted quay, alongside which we rowed slowly, -looking for the watering place; the large town, which had a false air of -Europe, with I know not what of primitive civilization. - -As we passed we saw the long straight streets, immensely wide, opening -one after the other on the whitening sky. At this uncertain hour when -the night was gradually being dissipated, not a light, not a sound; here -and there, some straggler without a home, moving with aimless -hesitation; along the sea front, evil-looking taverns, large wooden -buildings, smelling of spices and alcohol, but closed and dark as tombs. - -We stopped before one called the tavern _de la Independancia._ - -A Spanish song coming from within, more or less stifled; a door, -half-opened on the street; two men outside fighting with knives; a -drunken woman, who could be heard vomiting against the wall. On the -quay, heaps of bullock skins freshly flayed, infecting the sweet pure -air with an odour of venison. . . . - -A singular convoy came out of the tavern; four men carrying another, who -seemed to be very drunk, unconscious. They hurried towards the ships, as -if they were afraid of us. - -We knew this game, which is common enough in the evil places along this -coast; to ply sailors with liquor, to make them sign some preposterous -engagement, and then to carry them on board by force when they can no -longer keep their legs. Then the ship puts to sea as quickly as may be, -and when the man comes to his senses he is far from shore; he is fairly -caught, under a yoke of iron, and borne away, like a slave, to the whale -fisheries, far from any inhabited land. And once there, his escape need -no longer be feared, for he is a _deserter_ from his country's service, -lost. . . . - -And so this convoy passing along the quay excited our suspicion. They -pressed on like thieves, and I said to the sailors: "Let us follow -them!" Seeing our intention the men dropped their burden, which fell -heavily to the ground, and made off as fast as their legs would carry -them. - -And the burden was Kermadec. While we were occupied in picking him up -and establishing his identity, the others had made good their escape and -were now locked in the tavern. The sailors wanted to batter in the -doors, to take the place by assault, but that would have led to -diplomatic complications with Uruguay. - -Besides, Yves was saved, and that was the essential thing. I brought him -back to the ship, wrapt in a cloak and lying on the goatskins which -contained our provision of fresh water. - -And to have rendered him this service increased my attachment to him. - -The second time was when we were at Pernambuco. I had given a promissory -note to some Portuguese in a gambling den. The next day I had to find -the money, and as I had none, and as my friends had none either, I was -in a difficulty. - -Yves took the situation very tragically, and at once offered me the -money of his own which he had entrusted to my care, and which I kept in -a drawer of my desk. - -"It would give me much pleasure. Captain, if you would take it! I have -no further need to go ashore and, as you know well, it would be better -for me if I could not go." - -"Yves, my good fellow, I would accept your money gladly for a few days, -since you wish to lend it me; but, you know, it is short of what I want -by a hundred francs. So you see it's hardly worth while." - -"Another hundred francs? I think I have that below in my kit-bag." - -And he went away, leaving me very much astonished. That he should have -another hundred francs in his kit-bag seemed very unlikely. - -He was a long time in returning. He had not found them. I had -anticipated that. - -At length he reappeared. - -"Here you are!" he said, handing me his poor sailor's purse, with a -happy smile. - -Then a doubt came to me and, to resolve it, I said to him: - -"Yves, lend me your watch, too, like a good fellow; I left mine in -pledge." - -He was very confused, and said it was broken. I had guessed right: to -get these hundred francs he had just sold it with the chain, for half -its value, to a petty officer on board. - -And so Yves knew that he could call on me in any circumstances. And when -Barrada came for me on his behalf, I went down to him where he lay, in -irons, in the hold. - -But this time, by striking this old warrant officer, he had got himself -in a very serious position; my intercession for him was in vain, and his -punishment was heavy. Four months afterwards he had to put to sea again -without having seen his mother. - -When we were on the point of embarking together on the _Sibylle_ for a -voyage round the world in three hundred days, I took him on a Sunday to -Saint Pol-de-Léon, in order to console him. - -It was all I could do for him, for his Plouherzel was a long way from -Brest, in the Côtes-du-Nord, in the depth of a remote part of the -country, and at that time there was no railway which could take us there -in a single day. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -_5th May, 1875._ - - -For many years Yves had been looking forward to seeing this Saint -Pol-de-Léon, the little town where he was born. - -In the days when we sailed the misty northern waters together, often as -we passed in the offing, rocked in the grey swell, we had seen the -legendary tower of Creizker upreared in the dark distance, above the -mournful and monotonous stretch of land which, beyond, represented -Brittany, the country of Léon. - -And in the night watch we used to sing together the Breton song: - - -Oh! I was born in Finistère, -And in Saint Pol first saw the day: -My bell tower is beyond compare -And I love my native land O. - -. . . . . - -Give me back my heather -And my old bell tower. - - -But there was as it were a fatality, a throw of the dice against us: we -had never succeeded in getting there, to this Saint Pol. At the last -moment when we were on the point of starting out, something interfered -to prevent us; our ship received unexpected orders and it was necessary -to leave at once. And at the end we had come to regard with a kind of -superstition this tower of Creizker, glimpsed only and always from a -distance, in silhouette, on the edge of the mournful horizon. - - -This time, however, the position seems assured, and we start off in good -earnest. - -In the coupé of the old country diligence, we take our places next to a -Breton Curé. The horses set off at a good pace towards Saint Pol, and -all looks very real. - -It is early in the morning, in the first days of May; but it is raining, -a fine grey rain like a rain of winter. Ambling along the winding road, -ascending steep hills, descending into damp valleys, we make our way in -the midst of woods and rocks. The high ground is covered with dark fir -trees. In the valleys are oaks and beeches, the foliage of which, new -and wet, is of a tender green. By the roadside there are carpets of -Easter daisies and Breton flowers: the first pink silenes and the first -foxgloves. - -Turning a rocky corner we find that the rain and the wind have suddenly -ceased. And as if by magic the aspect of things is entirely changed. - -We see before us as far as eye commands a great flat country, a barren -moor, bare as a desert: the old country of Léon, in the background of -which, far away, stands the granite shaft of the Creizker. - -And yet this mournful country has a charm of its own, and Yves smiles as -he perceives his tower towards which we are moving. - -The gorse is in blossom and the whole plain has a colour of gold, varied -in places by stretches pink with heather. A veil of pearl-grey mist, of -a tint peculiar to the north, very soft and subtle, entirely covers the -sky; and in the monotony of this pink and yellow country, on the extreme -edge of the far horizon, nothing but these outstanding points: the -silhouette of Saint Pol and the three dark towers. - -Some little Breton girls are driving flocks of sheep before them through -the heather; some young lads, caracoling on horses which they ride -bareback, startle them; little traps pass laden with women in white -coifs who are on their way to hear mass in the town. The bells are -ringing, the road is gaily animated; we arrive. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -After we had lunched together at the best inn, we found that the -winter's morning had yielded place to a fine May day. In the empty -little streets, branches of lilac, clusters of wistaria, pink foxgloves -which no one had sown brightened the grey walls; the sun was really -shining and all about was a savour of spring. - -And Yves took in everything, marvelling that no recollection of his -early childhood came back to him, seeking, seeking in the dim background -of his memory, recognizing nothing, and then, little by little, becoming -disillusioned. - -On the grand'place of Saint Pol the crowd of the Sunday was assembled. -It seemed a picture of the Middle Ages. The cathedral of the old bishops -of Léon dominated the square, overwhelming it with its dark -denticulated mass, throwing over it a great shadow of bygone times. -Around were ancient houses with gables and little turrets; all the -drinkers of the Sunday, wearing aslant their wide felt hats, were -sitting at table before the doors. This crowd in its Breton dress, -living and alert here, this, too, might have been a crowd of olden days; -in the air, one heard vibrate only the harsh syllables, the northern -_ya_ of the Celtic tongue. - -Yves passed rather distractedly into the church, over the memorial -stones and over the old bishops asleep beneath. - -But he stopped, suddenly thoughtful, at the door, before the baptismal -font. - -"Look!" he said. "They held me above this. And we must have lived quite -near here; my poor mother has often told me that, on the day of my -baptism, on the day, you know, when they so cruelly insulted us by not -ringing the bell for me, she had heard, from her bed, the singing of the -priests." - -Unfortunately Yves had omitted to obtain from his mother, at Plouherzel, -the information necessary to identify the house in which they used to -live. - -He had reckoned on his godmother, Yvonne Kergaoc by name, who, he -understood, lived quite close to the church. And on our arrival we had -asked for this Yvonne Kergaoc: "Kergaoc." . . . They remembered her -well. - -"But from where do you come, my good sirs? . . . She is dead these -twelve years!" - -As for the Kermadecs no one had any recollection of them. And it was -scarcely to be wondered at: it was more than twenty years since they -left the town. - -We climbed the tower of Creizker; naturally it was high, it seemed never -to end, this point in the air. We greatly disturbed the old crows who -had their nests in the granite. - -A marvellous lace-work of grey stone, which mounted, mounted endlessly, -and was so slender it produced sensations of vertigo. We climbed within -it by a narrow and steep spiral staircase, discovering through all the -openings of the "open tower" infinite vistas. - -At the top, isolated, the two of us, in the keen air and the blue sky, -we saw things as a hovering bird might see them. First, below our feet, -were the crows which whirled in a dark cloud, giving us a concert of -mournful cries; much lower, the old town of Saint Pol, all flattened -out, a Lilliputian crowd moving about in its little grey streets, like a -swarm of ants; as far as eye could see, to the south, stretched the -Breton country up to the Black Mountains; and, to the north, was the -port of Roscoff, with thousands of strange little rocks riddling with -their pointed tops the mirror of the sea--the mirror of the great pale -blue sea which stretched away to mingle in the farthest distance with -the similar blue of the sky. - -It pleased us to have succeeded at last in climbing this Creizker, which -had so many times watched us pass in the midst of that infinity of -water; it was so calm, planted there, so permanent, so inaccessible and -unchanging, while we, poor waifs of the sea, were at the mercy of every -angry wind that blew. - -This granite lace-work which supported us in the air had been smoothed -and worn by the winds and rains of four hundred winters. It was of a -grey deepened by warm pinkish tones; and over it, in patches, was that -yellow lichen, that moss peculiar to granite, which takes centuries to -grow and throws its golden tint over all the old Breton churches. The -ugly-faced gargoyles, the little monsters with irregular features, who -live high up there in the air, were making faces at our side in the sun, -as if they resented being looked at from so near, as if they were -surprised themselves to be so old, to have endured through so many -tempests and to find themselves once more in the sunlight. It was these -people who had presided from above over the birth of Yves; it was these -people also who from afar watched us with friendliness as we passed by -at sea, when we, for our part, saw only a vague black shaft. And now we -were making their acquaintance. - -Yves was still very disappointed, however, that he had discovered no -trace of his old home nor of his father; no recollection, either in the -memory of others or his own. And he continued to gaze upon the grey -houses below, especially at those which were nearest the foot of the -tower, awaiting some intuition of the place where he was born. - -We had now only half an hour to spend in Saint Pol before catching the -evening diligence. Tomorrow morning we should have to be back in Brest, -where our ship was waiting to take us once more very far from Brittany. - -We sat down to drink some cider in an inn on the _Place de l'Église_, -and there again we questioned the hostess, who was a very old woman. And -she, as chance would have it, started suddenly on hearing Yves' name. - -"You are Yves Kermadec's son?" she said. "Oh! Did I know your parents! I -should think so, indeed. We were neighbours in those days. Why, when you -arrived in the world, they sent to fetch me. But you are like your -father, you know! I watched you when you came in. But you are not so -handsome as he, bless me, though, to be sure, you are a fine-looking -man." - -Yves, at this compliment, glanced at me, repressing a strong inclination -to smile; and then the old woman, growing very talkative, began to tell -him a multitude of things over which more than twenty years had passed, -while he listened attentive and greatly moved. - -Then she called some other old women, who also had been neighbours, and -they all began to talk. - -"Bless my soul!" they said. "How is it that no one was able to answer -you sooner? Everybody remembers them, remembers your parents. But people -are stupid in these parts; and then, when strangers come in this way, it -isn't surprising that people should hesitate to talk." - -Yves' father had left in the country round a reputation a little -legendary of a kind of giant of rare beauty, who was never able to -conform to the ways of others. - -"What a pity, sir, that such a man should so often go astray! It was the -tavern that ruined him, your poor father; for all that, he was very fond -of his wife and children, he was very gentle with them, and in the -country round everybody loved him except M. le Curé." - -"Except M. le Curé!" Yves repeated to me in a low voice, becoming -serious. "You see it is what I told you, on the subject of my baptism." - -"One day, there was a battle, here on the square, in 1848, for the -revolution; your father withstood single-handed the market people and -saved the life of the Mayor." - -"He had a big horse," said the hostess, "which was so wild that no one -dared to approach it. And people kept out of the way, I assure you, when -he passed mounted on the beast." - -"Ah!" said Yves, struck suddenly with a recollection which seemed to -have come to him from a great distance. "I remember that horse, and I -recall that my father used to lift me up and sit me on it when it was -tied in the stable. It is the first recollection I have of my father and -I can just picture a little his face. The horse was black, was it not, -with white hoofs?" - -"That's it! That's it," said the old woman. "Black with white hoofs. It -was a wild beast, and, bless my soul! what an idea for a sailor to have -a horse!" - -The inn is full of men drinking cider. They make a cheerful noise of -glasses and Breton conversations. And gradually they gather round and -make a sort of circle about us. - -The hostess has four granddaughters, all alike, and all ravishingly -pretty in their white coifs. They do not look like daughters of an inn. -They are the perfect type of the handsome Breton race of the north, and -they have the calm, thoughtful expression of those women of olden times -which the old portraits have preserved for us. They, too, gathered round -us, looking and listening. - -We are questioned in our turn. Yves replies: "My mother is still living -at Plouherzel with my two sisters. My two brothers, Gildas and Goulven, -are at sea, on American whalers. I myself have been for the last ten -years in the Navy." - -There is not much time to lose if we want to see before we go the old -home of the Kermadecs. It is quite near, by the very side of the church. -They show it to us from the door, and advise us to ask to be allowed to -see the room on the left, on the first floor; that is the room in which -Yves was born. - -At the side of the house is the large abandoned park of the bishopric of -Léon, where, it seems, Yves, when he was quite a little child, used to -play every day in the grass with Goulven. It is very thick to-day, this -grass of May, and full of Easter daisies and silenes. In the park roses -and lilac are growing wild now, as in a wood. - -We knock at the door of the house which the good women have pointed out -to us, and those who live there are a little surprised at the request we -make. But we do not inspire distrust, and they ask us only not to make a -noise when we enter the first floor room, on account of the old -grandmother who is sleeping there and is on the point of death. And -then, considerately, they leave us alone. - -We enter on tiptoe. It is a large room, poor and almost empty. The -things in it seem to have a presentiment of the grim visitor who is -expected; one is tempted almost to ask whether he has not already -arrived, and our eyes glance uneasily at a bed, the curtains of which -are drawn. Yves looks all round, trying to stretch his intelligence into -the past, to force himself as it were to remember. But it is no use. It -is finished; and even here he can find nothing. - -We were descending preparatory to leaving, when suddenly something came -back to him like a light in the distance. - -"Ah!" he said, "I think now that I recognize this staircase. Wait! Below -there should be a door on that side leading into a yard, and a well on -the left with a large tree, and, at the back, the stable where we used -to keep the horse with the white hoofs." - -It was as if there had suddenly come a break in the clouds. Yves stood -still on the stairs, gazing through this gap which had just been opened -on the past; he was thrilled to feel himself at grips with that -mysterious thing which men call memory. - -Below, in the yard, we found everything as he had described it, the well -on the left, the tree, the stable. And Yves said to me with an emotion -of awe, removing his hat as if he were by a grave: - -"Now I can see quite clearly my father's face." - -It was high time to depart, and the diligence was waiting for us. - -Throughout our journey over this golden-coloured moor, during the long -May twilight, our eyes were fixed on the Creizker tower which was -disappearing in the distance, and was lost at last in the depths of the -limpid darkness. We were bidding it adieu, for we were going to leave -to-morrow for very distant seas, where it would no longer be able to see -us pass. - -"To-morrow morning," said Yves, "you must let me come into your room on -board very early, so that I may write at your desk. I want to tell all -that we have found out to my mother before leaving France. And, you -know, I am sure that tears will come into her eyes when my letter is -read to her." - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -_June, 1875._ - - -It was now the twentieth parallel of latitude, in the region of the -trade winds. The hour was about six in the morning. On the deck of a -ship which rode solitary in the midst of the immense blue, was a group -of young men, stripped to the waist, in the warmth of the rising sun. - -It was Yves' band, the topmen of the foremast and those of the bowsprit. - -They had thrown over their shoulders, all of them, the handkerchiefs -which they had just washed, and they stood there gravely with back to -the sun to dry them. Their bronzed faces, their laughter, had still a -youthful, almost childlike, grace, and in their movements, in the -supple, flexible way in which they placed their bare feet there was -something catlike. - -And every morning, at this same hour, in this same sunshine, in this -same costume, this group foregathered on these same boards which carried -them along, all heedless, in the midst of the infinity of the sea. - -This particular morning they were talking about the moon, about its -human face, which had remained with them since the night as a pale, -persistent image graven in their memory. Throughout their watch they had -seen it on high, solitary and round, in the midst of the immense bluish -void; they had even been obliged to cover their faces (as they slept on -their backs in the open) on account of the maladies and evil spells it -casts on the eyes of sailors, when they sleep under its gaze. - -There were some amongst them who preserved still, and in spite of all, a -great air of nobility, a something indescribably superb in their -expression and general appearance; and the contrast between their aspect -and the simple things they said was singular. - -There was Jean Barrada, the sceptic of the company, who broke into the -discussion from time to time with a sarcastic burst of laughter, showing -his white teeth always and throwing back his handsome head. There was -Clet Kerzulec, a Breton from the island of Ushant, who was preoccupied -especially with the human features stamped on the pale disc. And then -big Barazère, who posed as a thinker and scholar, assuring them that it -was a world much larger than ours and inhabited by strange peoples. - -They shook their heads, incredulous, at this, and Yves, very thoughtful, -said: - -"You know, Barazfère, there are things . . . there are things about -which I don't believe you know very much." - -And then he added, with an air which cut short the discussion, that in -any case, he was going to find me and get me to explain to him what the -moon really was. - -There was no doubt in their minds that I should be well-informed about -the moon as about everything else. For they had often seen me occupied -in watching its progress through a copper instrument in company with a -signalman who counted for me out loud, with the monotonous voice of a -clock, the tranquil minutes and seconds of the night. - -Meanwhile, the little handkerchiefs were drying on the bare backs of the -men, and the sun was mounting in the wide blue sky. - -Some of these little handkerchiefs were all uniformly white; others had -pictures on them in many colours; and some even had great ships printed -in the middle in a red frame. - -I, whose watch it was, gave the order: "'Way aloft! Loose the topsail -reef!" And the boat-swain appeared among the talkers blowing his silver -whistle. Then suddenly, in the twinkling of an eye, like a band of cats -on whom a dog has been loosed, they all scattered, running, into the -masting. - -Yves lived aloft in his top. Looking up, one was sure to see his tall, -slim silhouette against the sky. But one rarely met him below. - -It was I who used to climb from time to time to visit him, although my -duty no longer required me to do so, since I had been promoted from the -rank of midshipman; but I was rather fond of this domain of Yves where -one was fanned by a still purer air. - -In this top, he had his little belongings; a pack of playing cards in a -box, needles and thread for sewing, stolen bananas, greenstuffs taken -during the night from the Commander's store, anything he was able to -find in his nocturnal marauding that was fresh and green (sailors are -partial to these rare things which soothe gums parched by salt). And -then he had his "parrot" attached by a claw, its eyes blinking in the -sun. - -The "parrot" was a large-headed owl of the pampas which had fallen on -board one day after a high wind. - -There are some strange destinies on the earth, but few stranger than -that of this owl making the tour of the world at the top of a mast. How -unexpected a fate! - -He knew his master and welcomed him with little joyous flappings of his -wings. Yves fed him regularly with his own ration of meat, although he -used to let him loose. - -It amused him greatly to peer into its eyes from quite near, and to see -how it shrank away, and arched its back with an air of offended dignity, -nodding its head after the manner of a bear. Then he would burst out -laughing, and say to it in his Breton accent: - -"Oh! but you are a stupid little fool, my old parrot!" - -From aloft one dominated as from a great height the deck of the -_Sibylle_, a _Sibylle_ flattened out and tapering, very strange to see -from this domain of Yves, having the appearance of a long wooden fish, -whose colour of new spruce contrasted with the deep and infinite blues -of the sea. - -And, through all these transparent blues, behind, in our wake, a little -grey thing having the same shape as the ship which it followed -unceasingly under water: the shark. It is always one shark which -follows, rarely two; but if the one is caught, another comes. For days -and nights it follows, follows without ever getting tired, waiting for -what may fall from the ship: debris of any kind, living men or dead men. - -And now and then a number of quite small swallows came also to bear us -company, amusing themselves, for a while, in picking up the crumbs of -biscuits which we scattered behind us in this watery desert, and then -disappeared in the distance describing joyous curves. Little beasts of a -rare kind, reddish in colour with a white tail, which live one knows not -how, lost amid the great waters, always in the open sea. - -Yves, who wanted one, set traps for them, but they were too shrewd to be -caught. - -We were approaching the Equator, and the regular breath of the trade -wind began to die away. There were now erratic breezes which shifted -suddenly, followed by times of calm in which everything became -immobilized in a kind of immense blue splendour; and then the yards, the -tops, and the great white sails were reflected in the water in the form -of inverted pictures undulating and incomplete. - -The _Sibylle_ scarcely moved, she was slow and lazy, she had the -movements of one half asleep. In the great moist heat, which even the -nights did not diminish, things, as well as men, seemed to be taken with -drowsiness. Gradually in the air a strange calm began to reign. And -presently clouds, heavy and obscure, gathered over the warm sea like -large dark curtains. The Equator was now quite near. - -Sometimes flights of swallows, large ones these and strange in movement, -rose suddenly from the sea, taking flight in startled fashion with long -pointed wings of a glistening blue, and then settled again, and one saw -them no more. These were shoals of flying-fish which had lain in our -course and which we had disturbed. - -The sails, the cordage hung limp, like dead things; we drifted lifeless -like a wreck. - -Aloft, in Yves' domain, might still be felt some slow movements which -were no longer perceptible below. In this motionless air saturated with -rays, the crow's nest continued to rock with a tranquil regularity which -conduced to slumber. There were long slow oscillations accompanied -always by the same flappings of drooping sails, the same creakings of -dry wood. - -It was intensely hot, and the light had a surprising splendour, and the -mournful sea was of a milky blue, of the colour of melted turquoise. - -But when the strange dense clouds, which travelled low so as almost to -touch the water, passed over us, they brought us night and drenched us -with a deluge of rain. - -We were now directly under the Equator; and it seemed that there was no -breath of air there to carry us forward. - -They lasted for hours, sometimes for a whole day, this darkness and -these tropical storms. Then Yves and his friends assumed a uniform which -they called the "uniform of savages," and sat them down, all heedless, -under the warm downpour and let it rain as it would. - -And then suddenly the weather changed. The black curtain of clouds drew -slowly away, continuing its sluggish progress, over the turquoise -coloured sea; and the splendid light reappeared more astonishing than -ever after the darkness; and the powerful equatorial sun proceeded to -drink up very quickly all this water that had been poured upon us; the -sails, the woodwork of the ship, the awnings recovered their whiteness -in the sunshine; the _Sibylle_ in its entirety took on once more its -normal clear colour in the midst of the vast blue monotony which -stretched everywhere around. - -Looking down from the top in which Yves lived, one saw that this blue -world was without limit, that its clear depths were without end. One -felt that the horizon, the last line of the waters, was a great distance -away, although it did not differ at all from the immediate surroundings, -having always the same clearness, always the same colour, always the -same mirror-like polish. And one realized then the _roundness_ of the -earth, which alone set a limit to the vision. - -At the hour of sunset there were in the air kinds of vaults formed of -successions of tiny golden clouds; they were repeated, in diminishing -perspective, until they almost disappeared in the empty distance; one -followed them to the point of vertigo; they were like the naves of -Apocalyptic temples having no end. And the air was so clear that it -needed the horizon of the sea to shut out the vista of these depths of -the sky; the last little golden clouds formed as it were a tangent to -the line of the waters, and seemed, in their remoteness, as delicate as -the finest of hatching. - -At other times there were simply long bands which traversed the sky, -gold on gold: the clouds of a bright and as if incandescent gold, on a -Byzantine background of dull and tarnished gold. The sea below took on a -certain shade of peacock blue with reflections of molten metal. -Afterwards all this faded very quickly into deep transparencies, into -shadowy colours to which it was not possible to give a name. - -And the nights which followed, even they were luminous; when everything -slept in heavy immobility, in a silence of death, the stars appeared -above more brilliant than in any other region of the world. - -And the sea also was illumined in its depths. There was a kind of -immense diffused light in the waters. The slightest movements--of the -ship in its slow progress, of the shark as it turned about in our -wake--disclosed in the warm eddies lights like that of the glow-worm. -And, besides, on the great phosphorescent mirror of the sea, there were -thousands of fleeting flames; it was as if there were myriads of little -lamps which lit themselves everywhere, burnt for a few seconds and then -went out. These nights were aswoon with heat, full of phosphorus, and -all this dimmed immensity was pregnant with light, and all these waters -were replete with latent life in its rudimentary state as formerly the -mournful waters of the primitive world. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -It was some days now since we had left behind us the tranquillities of -the Equator, and we were proceeding slowly towards the south, driven by -the south trade wind. One morning Yves entered my room full of business, -in order to prepare his lines for catching birds: "We have seen," he -said, "the first 'draught-boards' behind us." - -These "draught-boards" are birds of the open sea, near relatives of the -sea-gull, and the most beautiful of all the tribe: snowy white, the -plumage soft and silky, with a black draught-board finely designed on -the wings. - -The first "draught-boards!" Their appearance reminds us of the distance -we have travelled; it is a sign that we have left well behind us our -northern hemisphere, and that we are approaching the cold regions which -lie on the other side of the earth, in the far south. - -They were before their due time nevertheless, these "draught-boards"; -for we were still in the blue zone of the trade winds. And all day long, -and every day, and every night, was the same breeze, regular, warm, and -exquisite to respire; and the same transparent sea, and the same little -white fleecy clouds passing peacefully across the lofty heaven; and the -same bands of flying fish rising up in foolish alarm with their long wet -wings, and shining in the sun like birds of bluish steel. - -There were quantities of these flying-fish; and when it happened that -one of them was foolish enough to alight on board, the topmen quickly -cut off its wings and ate it. - -The time when Yves used to like to descend from his crow's nest and come -to visit me in my room was in the evening, especially after the assembly -at evening quarters. He would come very quietly, without making in his -bare feet any more noise than a cat. He would drink some fresh water -straight out of a water-cooler which hung at my port-hole, and then set -to work putting in order divers things which belonged to me; or, maybe, -he would read some novel. There was one especially of George Sand's -which enthralled him, "Le Marquis de Villemer." At the first reading I -had surprised him on the point of tears, towards the end. - -Yves could sew very skilfully, as all good sailors can, and it was -quaint to see him engaged in this work, given his size and aspect. -During his evening visits he used to overhaul my uniform and do any -repairs which he judged were beyond the skill of my servant to attend to -properly. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -We sailed steadily, fully rigged, towards the south. Now there were -clouds of "draught-boards" and other sea-birds in attendance upon us. -They followed us, wondering and confident, from morning until night, -crying, throwing themselves about, flying in erratic curves--as if in -welcome to us, another great bird with canvas wings, which was entering -their distant and infinite domain, the Southern Pacific Ocean. - -And their numbers increased daily in measure as we progressed. With the -"draught-boards" there were pearl-grey petrels, the beak and claws -lightly tinted with blue and pink; and black molly-mawks; and great, -heavy albatrosses, dirty in colour, with their stupid sheepish air, with -their immense rigid wings, cleaving the air, whining after us. There was -one among them which the sailors pointed out to one another; an Admiral, -a bird of a rare and enormous kind, with _three stars_ marked in black -on its long wings. - -The weather had changed and become calm, misty, mournful. The south -trade wind had died away in its turn, and the clearness of the tropics -was no more. A great damp cold surprised our senses. We were in August -and the winter of the southern hemisphere was beginning. When we looked -round the empty horizon, it seemed that the north, the side of the sun -and of living countries, was still blue and clear; while the south, the -side of the Pole and of the watery deserts, was dark and gloomy. - -As a favour to me, Yves had obtained for his parrot a reserved -compartment in the Commander's hen coop, and he used to go every evening -to cover it with a piece of sailcloth in order to protect it from the -night air. - -Every day the sailors used to "fish" with their lines for -"draught-boards" and petrels. There were rows of these birds, skinned -like rabbits, hanging all red in the foreshrouds, waiting their turn to -be eaten. After two or three days, when they had rendered all the oil in -their bodies, they were ready for cooking. - -These foreshrouds were the larder of the topmen. By the side of the -"draught-boards" and the petrels, even rats might sometimes be seen, -stripped also of their skin, and hung by the tail. - -One night we heard suddenly the rising of a great fearsome voice, and -everybody bestirred himself and took to running. - -At the same time the _Sibylle_ leaned over, shuddering, as if in the -grip of a tenebrous power. - -Then even those who were not of the watch, even those who were sleeping -on the spar deck, understood: it was the beginning of the great winds -and the great swell; we had now entered the stormy latitudes of the -south, amid which we should have to fight for our existence and at the -same time make headway. - -And the farther we advanced into this sullen ocean, the colder became -the wind, and the more mountainous the swell. - -The fall of the nights became sinister. We were in the neighbourhood of -Cape Horn: desolation on the only land that was anywhere near, -desolation on the sea, everywhere a desert. At this hour of the winter -twilight, when one felt more particularly the need of a shelter, of -getting near a fire, of covering under which to sleep--we had nothing, -nothing--we kept vigil, for ever on the alert, lost amid all these -moving things which made us dance in the darkness. - -We tried hard to create an illusion of home in the little cabins rudely -shaken, where swung the suspended lamps. But it was no use; there was no -stability anywhere: we were in a little frail thing, lost, far from any -land, in the midst of the immense desert of the southern waters. And, -outside, we heard continuously the roar of the waves and the mournful -moaning of the wind which smote the heart. - -And Yves, for his part, had no more than his poor swinging hammock, in -which, one night out of two, he was allowed the leisure to sleep a -little warmly. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -It was one morning, as we were entering the Celebean Sea, that the owl -which was Yves' parrot died, a morning of high wind on which we took in -the second reef of the topsail. It was accidentally crushed between the -mast and the yard. - -Yves, who heard its hoarse cry, rushed to its assistance, but too late. -He came down from the crow's nest carrying the poor thing in his hand, -dead, flattened out, having no longer the shape of a bird, a mash of -blood and grey feathers, out of which emerged, moving still, one poor -curled-up claw. - -I could see that Yves was very much upset. But he did no more than show -it to me without a word, biting his disdainful underlip. Then he threw -it into the sea, and the shark which was following us swallowed it as if -it had been an ablet. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -In Brittany, during the winter of 1876, the _Sibylle_ had been back at -Brest for two days--after having completed its voyage round the -world--and I was with Yves, one evening in February, in a country -diligence which was carrying us towards Plouherzel. - -It was an out-of-the-way place, this village where Yves' mother lived. -The diligence in which we sat was due to take us in four hours from -Guincamp to Paimpol, where we counted on spending the night; and from -there we should have a long way to go on foot. - -On we went, jolted over a rough little road, plunging deeper and deeper -into the silence of the mournful countryside. The winter's night -descended on us slowly, and a fine rain obscured things in a grey mist. -We passed trees and more trees, showing one after another their dead -silhouette. At wide intervals we passed villages also--Breton villages, -dark thatched cottages and old churches with slender granite -steeples--little groups of homesteads, isolated and melancholy, which -quickly disappeared behind us in the night. - -"Do you know," said Yves, "I came this way, at night, eleven years -ago--I was then fourteen--and I wept bitterly. It was the first time I -had left home, and I was travelling alone to Brest to join the navy." - -I was accompanying Yves on this journey to Plouherzel partly for want of -something to do. The leave granted me was short, and I had not time, on -this occasion, to visit my home, so I was going to visit his, and to see -this village of his which he loved so well. - -And, at the moment, I was rather sorry I had come. Yves, absorbed in the -happiness of his return, kept up a conversation with me out of -deference, but his thoughts were elsewhere. I felt that I was a stranger -in this world for which we were bound, and this Brittany, which I had -not yet learned to love, oppressed me with its sadness. - -_Paimpol!_ We roll over cobbles, between old dark houses, and the -diligence stops. People are waiting there with lanterns. Breton words -and French words are interchanged. - -"Are there any travellers for the Hôtel Pendreff?" pipes a small boy's -voice. - -The Hôtel Pendreff! Surely the name is familiar to me. And now I -remember that nine years before, during my first year in the navy, I had -rested there for an hour, on a day in June, when my ship, by chance, had -anchored in a bay near by. I recollect it well; an old manor house, -turreted and gabled, presided over by two aged sisters named Le -Pendreff, both alike, in large white bonnets, making a picture of bygone -days. We will get down at the Hôtel Pendreff. - -In the house itself nothing is changed. But one of the Le Pendreff -sisters is dead. She who remains was already so old nine years ago that -she can scarcely have grown older since. Her type, her bonnet, the -placid dignity of her bearing, are of a past generation. - -It is good to dine before the great roaring fire, and cheerfulness -returns to us. - -Afterwards, the good dame Le Pendreff, armed with a copper candlestick, -leads the way up a stone staircase and ushers us into a very large room, -where there are two beds of an old-fashioned type hung with white -curtains. - -Yves, however, undresses himself very slowly and without conviction. - -"Ah!" he says, suddenly putting on his blue collar again. "I am going to -continue the journey! In the first place, you understand, I should not -be able to sleep. It's true, I shall get home very late, I shall awaken -them after midnight, and that will startle them a little--I did that in -the year when I returned from the war. But I am so anxious to see them, -I cannot wait here." - -And I, too, decided that I would follow his example. - -Paimpol is asleep when we leave in the pale moonlight. I am accompanying -him for a part of his way, to help to pass the hours of the night. We -are now in the fields. - -Yves walks very quickly; he is very excited, and goes over in his mind -the memories of his earlier returns. - -"Yes," he said. "After the war I returned like this, about two o'clock -in the morning, and woke them up. I had walked from Saint Brieuc; I was -returning, very weary, from the siege of Paris. You will realize I was -quite young then. I had just become able seaman. - -"And, I remember, I got a great fright that night: by the cross of -Kergrist, which we shall see in a minute at the turning of this road, I -came upon a little old man, very ugly, who stared at me with -outstretched arms, but without moving. And I am sure he was a ghost; for -he disappeared almost at once, beckoning with his finger as if he wanted -me to follow him." - -Presently we reached this cross of Kergrist. We saw it rise up before us -as if it were someone approaching in the darkness. But there was no -ghost at its foot. - -It was there I said good-bye to Yves and retraced my steps, for I, for -my part, was not going to Plouherzel. When we no longer heard the sound -of each other's footsteps in the silence of the winter's night, the -ghost of the little old man came back into our minds, and in spite of -ourselves we took to peering into the darkness of the undergrowth. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -On the following morning I opened my eyes in the large room of the good -dame Le Pendreff. The Breton sun filtered gently through the windows. -The day, apparently, was very fine. - -After the first few moments which I always spend in asking myself in -what corner of the world I am, I remembered Yves and I heard outside the -tramping of a crowd in sabots. There was a great fair that day in -Paimpol, and I dressed myself up in ordinary sailor's clothes in order -that I might not intimidate the many friends to whom I was going to be -presented as a south-country sailor. This had been arranged with Yves, -both the dressing up and the story attached to it. - -I descended the steps of the hotel. The sun was shining and the square -was full of people: sailors, peasants, fishermen. Yves, too, was there; -he had returned in the early morning for the fête with all his -relations from Plouherzel; and he was waiting outside to conduct me to -his mother. - -She was a very old woman, this mother of Yves, holding herself very -upright and rather proudly in her peasant dress. She resembled him a -little about the eyes, but her expression was hard. I was surprised to -find her so old. She looked over seventy. It is true, of course, that in -the country people age very quickly, especially when grief is added to -toil. - -She did not understand a word of French and scarcely looked at me. - -But there was a great number of cousins and friends who all welcomed me -warmly and with an air of good humour. They had come from afar, from -their little moss-grown cottages scattered about the wild countryside, -to assist at the great fête of the town. And with them I needs must -drink: cider, wine; there was no end to it. - -The noise steadily increased and some hoarse-voiced pedlars of ballads -were singing now in Breton, under red umbrellas, woeful and heartrending -things. - -Presently a personage arrived of whom Yves had often spoken to me, his -childhood's friend, Jean; he lived in a neighbouring cottage, and Yves -had come across him again in the service, a sailor like himself. He was -of our own age, with an open and intelligent face. He embraced Yves -affectionately and then introduced us to Jeannie, who, for the last -fortnight, had been his wife. - -Yves overwhelmed his mother with attentions and caresses; they had many -things to tell one another, and they both spoke at once. He made -apologies to us from time to time, but it was good to see them and to -hear them. Her eyes lost their hard expression when she looked at him. - -The good people of the country have always interminable business to -transact with the notary; I left them as they all made their way to the -one at Paimpol to wait their turn. - -In any case I had decided not to establish myself with them until -to-morrow, in order that I might not be in the way during their first -day, and I went off alone for a long walk. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -I walked for about an hour. By chance I had taken the same road as -yesterday with Yves, and I had passed again the cross of Kergrist. - -Now Paimpol and the sea, and the islands, and the headlands wooded with -dark fir trees, had disappeared behind a fold of the ground; a more -mournful country stretched before me. - -This February day was calm and very dreary; the air was almost mild, and -in places the sky was blue, but mainly it was overclouded, as this -Breton sky always is. - -I made my way along damp lanes, bordered, according to old usage, by -high banks of earth, which shut out the view sadly. The short grass, the -damp moss, the bare branches told of winter. At the corners of the road -old calvaries stretched out their grey arms; they bore simple carvings, -quaintly altered by the centuries: the instruments of the Passion, or -perhaps a distorted figure of Christ. - -At wide intervals were straw-thatched cottages, green with moss, half -buried in the earth and the dead branches. The trees were stunted, -stripped by the winter, twisted by the wind from the sea. Not a soul in -sight and silence everywhere. - -A chapel of grey granite with an enclosure of beeches and tombs. . . . -Ah! yes, I recognize it without ever having seen it, the chapel of -Plouherzel! Yves had often spoken of it to me on board during the night -watch, during the clear nights at the other side of the world, when we -used to dream of home. "When you reach the chapel," he used to say, "it -is quite near; you have but to turn into the path on the left, and two -hundred yards away is our home." - -I turned to the left and, by the side of the little road, I saw the -cottage. - -It was solitary, quite low and overshadowed by old beech trees. - -It looked out upon a mournful expanse of country, the distances of which -were shaded in dark grey. There were interminable, monotonous plains -with phantoms of trees; a salt water lake at the hour of low water, an -empty lake hollowed out of the granite strata, a deep meadow of seaweed, -with an island in the middle. - -A strange island, formed of a single piece of polished granite, like a -back, having the shape of a large beast sitting. One looked about for -the sea, the real sea which with the returning tide must come to fill -these abandoned reservoirs, but there was no sign of it anywhere. A cold -dark mist was rising on the horizon, and the winter sunshine was -beginning to fade. - -Poor Yves! So this is his home; a lonely cottage by the roadside; a poor -little Breton cottage, in a turning off a remote lane, low-pitched, -under a lowering sky, half buried in the earth, with ancient little -granite walls overgrown with parietaries and moss. - -All his memories of childhood are centred here; it was his cradle, his -nest; a cherished home in which his mother lived, a home to which, in -far-off countries, in the great cities of America and Asia, his -imagination always brought him back. He thought of it with love, of this -little corner of the world, during the fine calm nights at sea and -during the riotous nights of brutal pleasure which made up his life of -adventure. A poor, lonely cottage, at the turning of a road, and that -was all. - -In his dreams at sea it was this that he saw: under a threatening sky, -amid the mournful country of this land of Goëlo, these old damp little -walls overgrown with parietaries; and the neighbouring cottages in which -kind old women in white Breton head-dresses used to spoil him when he -was a child; and then, at the corner of the roads, the granite -calvaries, corroded by the centuries. . . . - -Merciful heavens! How dreary this country is! How dreary and how -depressing! - -I knocked at the door and a young girl who resembled Yves appeared on -the threshold. - -I asked her if this was indeed the house of the Kermadecs. - -"Yes," she said, a little surprised and apprehensive. And then, -suddenly: - -"Ah! you, sir, are the friend of my brother who arrived with him at -Brest yesterday evening?" - -But she was rather concerned to see that I came alone. - -I entered. I saw the cupboards, the Breton beds, the old plates in rows -on the plate stand. Everything looked clean and respectable; but the -cottage was very small and humble. - -"All our relations are rich," Yves had often told me. "It is only we who -are poor." - -I was shown one of those beds in the form of a cupboard, with two -places, which had been prepared for Yves and me. I was to occupy the -upper shelf, which was decorated with thick hangings of reddish cloth, -very clean and very stiff. - -"Won't you sit down? They will be back from the town very soon now." - -But no. I thanked her and went away. - -Half-way to Paimpol, as night was falling, I perceived in the distance a -large blue collar, in a little trap which was being driven briskly in -the direction of Plouherzel: the little carriage of friend Jean bringing -back Yves and his mother. I had just time to hide myself behind a hedge; -if they had recognized me, there would have been no escape from them, of -that I was certain. - -It was quite dark when I reached Paimpol, and the little street lamps -were lit. I tried to mingle in the crowd which moved about the square -and consisted for the most part of those sailors who are known in these -parts as Icelanders, men who exile themselves every summer, for six -months, in the dangerous fishing expeditions to the cold northern seas. - -None of these men was alone. They perambulated the streets, singing, -with young women on their arm, sisters, sweethearts, mistresses. And -these pictures of happiness and life made me feel my own utter -loneliness. I walked about alone, miserable and unknown to them all, in -my borrowed clothes which resembled theirs. People stared at me. "Who is -that? A stranger in search of a ship? We have never seen him before." - -I felt cold at heart and impulsively I turned away to take once more the -road to Plouherzel. After all, perhaps I should not be greatly in the -way of my simple friends there, if I went and warmed myself a little -among them. - -I had forgotten all about dinner and walked rapidly, fearful lest I -should arrive too late, fearful lest I should find the cottage shut up -for the night and my friends in bed. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -At the end of about an hour I was in the midst of fields, absolutely -lost. Around me nothing but darkness, and the silence of a winter's -night. I wandered along muddy lanes; not a soul of whom I could ask the -way, not a hamlet, not a light. But always the dark silhouettes of -trees, and, at intervals, calvaries; some of these calvaries were very -large, and I had no recollection of having seen them in my walk during -the day. - -I retraced my steps hurriedly. For a long time I tried different -directions, running. An icy rain began to fall, driven by the wind which -had risen suddenly. It did not distress me much that I had lost my way, -but I felt the need of seeing someone friendly, and I made haste in my -efforts to find Yves. - -It must have been very late when I recognized ahead of me the chapel of -Plouherzel and the sea-water lake, on which the moonlight was now -falling, and the dark mass of the granite isle on the pale water, the -back of the great couchant beast. - -Near the chapel I heard voices. In the darkness two men, one of athletic -build, holding each other by the hand and talking to each other very -affectionately, in the manner of men in the early stage of intoxication: -Yves and Jean; and I hastened to them. - -They were greatly surprised and pleased to see me. And Jean, taking each -of us by the arm, insisted that we should both accompany him to his -home. - -Jean's cottage, isolated also, was in the neighbourhood of Yves', but it -was much larger and better furnished. - -You realized at once that you were in the home of people comfortably -off: the presses and the beds had clasps of figured steel which shone -like armour. At the farther end was a monumental fireplace, in which -blazed a large oak log. - -Two women were sitting before this fire, Jeannie, the young wife, and -the old grandmother, in tall head-dress, busy at her spinning-wheel. - -She would have made a fine study for an artist, this mother of Jean. She -had also, in some measure, brought up Yves, whom she called in Breton -"her other son," and whom she kissed very affectionately on both cheeks. - -The women, for the past hour, had been sitting up anxiously for them. -They received them with indulgence, although they were tipsy (it was -what commonly happened when old friends met), scolded them just a -little, and then set to work to make pancakes and soup for the three of -us. - -A wild wind, which had begun to blow from the sea, roared outside, in -the darkness of the deserted countryside. From time to time, it rushed -down the chimney, driving before it the bright flames of the fire; and -then little flakes of ash, very light, began to dance a round-dance -about the hearth, very low, skimming the floor, like those unhappy souls -of dwarfs which circle the whole night long about the Great Rocks. - -We were very comfortable before this fire which dried our clothes soaked -with rain, and we waited eagerly for the hot soup which was being -prepared for us. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -The pancakes, which were being made for us, resembled the moon, so large -were they; they were passed to us in turn, piping hot, at the end of a -long oak spoon shaped like the oar of a cutter. - -Yves let one fall on a large hen which we had not noticed on the floor. -The hen retreated hurriedly to a dark corner, shaking its feathers with -a peevish and offended air. I wanted to laugh and so did Jeannie, but we -dared not, knowing as we both did that it was a sign of misfortune. - -"That old black one again!" said the old grandmother, letting go her -spinning-wheel, and looking at Yves with an air of consternation. -"Jeannie, you must remember to send it to market to-morrow morning; it -is for ever wandering about when all the others are in bed; it will end -by bringing unhappiness upon us." - -We cut our pancakes in small pieces and put them in our soup-bowls, and -then we eat them, well-soaked, with our wooden spoons. And Jeannie made -us drink, all three out of the same large mug, some very good cider. - -Afterwards, when we had eaten and drunk our fill, Jean began to sing, in -a fine tenor voice, a sea chanty known to all Breton sailors. Yves and I -sang bass, and the old grandmother beat time with her head and the pedal -of her spinning-wheel. We no longer heard the mournful refrains which -the wind sang, all alone, outside. - -The ditty ran: - - -We were three sailor lads of Groix, -We were three sailor lads of Groix, -'A sailing on the _Saint François._ -How the wind blows! -The wind is the plague o' the sailor. - -Heave to! There's a man overboard; -Heave to! There's a man overboard; -The others are in sore distress. -How the wind blows! -The wind is the plague o' the sailor. - -The others are in sore distress, -The others are in sore distress, -They hoist the white flag on the mast. -How the wind blows! -The wind is the plague o' the sailor. - -They hoist the white flag on the mast, -They hoist the white flag on the mast, -But all they find is his poor hat. -How the wind blows! -The wind is the plague o' the sailor. - -But all they find is his poor hat, -But all they find is his poor hat, -His 'baccy pipe and his jack-knife. -How the wind blows! -The wind is the plague o' the sailor. - -The mother dear he left behind, -The mother dear he left behind, -She prays Saint Anne of Auray. -How the wind blows! -The wind is the plague of the sailor. - -O! good Saint Anne send back my son, -O! good Saint Anne send back my son, -The good Saint Anne she makes reply. -How the wind blows! -The wind is the plague o' the sailor. - -The good Saint Anne she makes reply, -The good Saint Anne she makes reply, -"You'll find him again in Paradise!" -How the wind blows! -The wind is the plague o' the sailor. - -Home she goes to her cottage lone, -Home she goes to her cottage lone, -And dies, poor soul, on the morrow. -How the wind blows! -The wind is the plague o' the sailor. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - -When it was time to go, I found that Yves was much more tipsy than I -could have believed. Outside he stumbled up to his knees in puddles of -water, and reeled from side to side. To get him home I put my right arm -round his waist and his left arm over my shoulder and almost carried -him. We could see nothing but the intense blackness of the night; a -strong wind lashed our faces, and, in the dark lanes, Yves no longer -knew where he was. - -They were uneasy in his cottage and were sitting up for him. His mother -scolded him, in her stern way, speaking loud and angrily as one might to -a naughty child; and he went very crestfallen and sat down in a corner. - -However, we were forced to partake of a second supper; it is the custom -and there was no escape. An omelette, more pancakes, and slices of brown -bread and butter. Afterwards we proceeded to retire for the night, the -men first and then, the light having first been extinguished, the women. -Under our mattresses there were thick litters made of a mass of branches -of oaks and beeches; these subsided with a crackle of dry leaves when we -lay down, and we felt ourselves sink into a little hollow, which kept us -warm. - -"Hoo! hoo-oo-oo! Hoo! hoo-oo-oo!" sang the wind outside, with a voice -like an owl's, as if it were angry, as if it were indignant, then as if -it were complaining and dying. - -When the candle was put out and the cottage was in darkness, came the -sound of a small voice beginning a Breton prayer; it was the voice of a -little girl of four who had been adopted by the family; she was in fact -the child of Gildas by a girl in Plouherzel, begotten during his last -visit to his home. - -A very long prayer, broken by solemn responses of the old grandmother; -all the Saints of Brittany: Saints Corentin and Allain, Saints -Thénénan and Thégonnec, Saints Tuginal and Tugdual, Saints Clet and -Gildas were invoked, and then there was silence. - -Quite near me, the scarcely perceptible breathing of Yves, already sunk -in deep sleep. At the foot of our bed the hens at roost dreaming on -their high perch. A cricket giving out from time to time, in the still -warm hearth, a mysterious little crystal note. And outside, around the -solitary cottage, the continuous noise of the wind: an immense groaning -which swept over all the Breton country: an unceasing pressure which -came from the sea with the night and stirred the country to a monotonous -dark movement, at the hour when the dead appear and ghosts walk. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - -"Good morning, Yves!" - -"Good morning, Pierre!" - -And we throw open to the light of the morning the shutters of our -cupboard. - -This "Good morning, Pierre!" preceded by a little smile of intelligence, -is said with hesitation, in a shy voice; it is "Good morning, Captain!" -that Yves is accustomed to say, and he is rather disconcerted at finding -himself on awakening, so near me and under the necessity of calling me -by my name. To impose upon the good people of Plouherzel and preserve -the character given me by my borrowed clothes, we had concerted this -show of intimacy. - -The sunshine of yesterday had departed and the high wind of the night -was no more. It was typical Brittany weather and the whole country was -enveloped in the same immense grey cloud. The light was the light of -twilight, and was so pale and wan that it seemed that it had not -strength enough to enter through the little windows of the cottages. Of -distant things one could distinguish nothing; a fine drizzle, like a -watery dust, filled the air. - -We had to make the promised round of visits to uncles, cousins, old -friends of boyhood; and these little homesteads were very scattered, for -Plouherzel is not a village, but a region around a chapel. - -Often we had far to walk, along muddy lanes, between moss-covered banks, -under the vault of old dead beech trees and under the veil of the grey -sky. - -And all these cottages were alike, low, sunk in the earth, gloomy; their -thatched roof, their rough granite walls, made green with scurvy grass, -with lichen and the fresh moss of winter. Within, dark, primitive, with -press-beds protected by pictures of the saints or statues of the Blessed -Virgin. - -We were received everywhere in most cordial fashion, and everywhere we -needs must eat and drink. There were long conversations in Breton, with -which, in my honour, was mingled, with indifferent success, a little -French. It was of the childhood of Yves that these good people loved -most to talk. Dear old men and dear old women recounted with glee the -pranks he used to play; and, by all accounts, they were very numerous. - -"Oh! he was a terrible fellow, you may take our word for it!" - -Yves received these compliments with his big, placid air and drank at -every opportunity. - -The devil-may-care sea-rover was taking shape already, it seemed, in the -heart of the little wild boy; the little Yves, who ran barefoot about -these lanes of Plouherzel, was the unconscious germ of the sailor of -later days, wild, truant, uncontrollable. - -Towards evening, at low tide, we descended, Yves and I, into the bed of -the salt-water lake, into the meadow of brown seaweed. We carried, each -of us, a slice of black bread well buttered, and a large knife for -opening shell-fish. A feast of his boyhood which he wanted to renew with -me: shell-fish eaten raw with bread and butter. - -The sea had receded for many miles, laying bare the vast fields of -seaweed, the deep meadow in which the herbage was brown and briny, with -strange living flowers. All around, granite walls enclosed this immense -pond, and the isle shaped like a couchant beast, stripped to its feet, -disclosed the bottom of its black base. There were many other granite -blocks also, which had been hidden under water at high tide and now were -visible, rising up, with their long trimmings of seaweed hanging like -wet bedraggled hair. On the mournful plain many of them might be seen -scattered all about, in strange attitudes of awakening. - -The cold air was impregnated with the acrid odour of sea-wrack. Night -came on slowly, with silent stealth, and all these large backs of stone -began to take on the appearance of herds of monsters. We took the -shell-fish on the end of our knives and ate them as they were, all -living, with our slices of bread, being both hungry and in haste to be -done before the light should fail. - -"It's not so good as it used to be," said Yves when he had finished -eating. "And somehow it seems to me melancholy here. . . . When I was -little, I remember, there were times when I had the same feeling, but -not so strongly as to-night. Let us go, shall we?" - -Rather surprised by what he said, I replied to him: - -"My poor Yves, I think you are becoming like me!" - -"Like you, do you say?" - -And he looked at me with a long melancholy smile, which revealed to me -new things in him, new and indefinable things. And I realized that -evening that he had in fact, much more than I should have thought, ways -of thinking, ideas, sensations, similar to mine. - -"And do you know," he continued, as if following still the same train of -thought, "do you know there is one thing which troubles me often when we -are far away, at sea or in countries overseas? I scarcely dare to tell -you. . . . It is the idea that I might die perhaps and not be buried in -our cemetery here." - -And he pointed to the steeple of Plouherzel Church, which could be seen -above the granite cliffs in the far distance, like a grey arrow. - -"It is not from any religious feeling, as you will understand; for you -know that I have no love for the clergy. No, it is just an idea that -comes to me, I cannot tell you why. And when I am unhappy enough to -think of this thing, I cease somehow to be brave." - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - - -It was in the evening, after supper, that Yves' mother solemnly -recommended her son to my care. It was a trust that has endured until -now. - -She had understood, with her mother's instinct, that I was not what I -appeared to be, and that I should be able to exercise over the destiny -of her last son a very important influence. - -"She says," translated her daughter, "that you are deceiving us, sir, -and that Yves, too, is deceiving us to please you; that you are not one -like ourselves. . . . And she asks, since you voyage together, if you -will look after him." - -Then the old woman began to tell me the story of Yves' father, a story -which I had heard long before from Yves himself. I listened to it -willingly, nevertheless, recited by this young girl, before the wide -Breton fireplace where the flames danced over a beech log. - -"She says that our father was a very handsome sailor, so handsome that -no one in the country had ever seen so handsome a man walk the earth. He -died, leaving thirteen of us, thirteen children. He died as many sailors -of our country die. One Sunday when he had been drinking he put to sea -at night in his boat, in spite of a strong wind that blew from the -north-west, and he never returned. Like his sons, he was a man without -fear; but his head was not good. . . ." - -And the poor mother looked at her son Yves. - -"She says," continued the daughter, "that my parents lived at Saint -Pol-de-Léon, in Finistère, that Yves was one year old, and that I was -not yet born when our father died, that she then left Saint Pol and -returned to Plouherzel in Goëlo, her native country. My father left his -affairs in great disorder; almost all the money that at one time we had -had been spent in the tavern, and my mother had no longer wherewithal to -feed us. It was then that my two elder brothers, Gildas and Goulven, -left to become ship-boys on ocean-going ships. - -"We have not seen much of them in the country here since their -departure, and yet it cannot be said that they have ceased to care about -us. They many times surrendered their sailors' pay in order to help my -mother to bring us up, us younger ones, Yves, my sister who is here, and -me. - -"But Goulven deserted, sir, more than fifteen years ago, in a fit of -temper." - -"They, too," said the old woman, "are handsome and brave sailors, their -heart is true as gold. . . . But they have their father's head, and -already they have taken to drinking heavily." - -"My brother Gildas," the daughter went on, "served for seven years on -board an American ship engaged in whale fishing in the great ocean. That -voyage made him very rich; but it seems that it is a hard calling, is it -not, sir?" - -"Yes, a hard calling indeed. . . ." I have seen them at work in the -great ocean, these sailors in question, half whale fishers and half -pirates, who pass years in the great swell of the southern seas without -ever touching inhabited land. - -"He was so rich, my brother Gildas, when he returned from this fishing, -that he had a large sack filled full with pieces of gold." - -"He poured them here on to my knees," said the old woman, holding out -the skirt of her dress as if to receive them again, "and my apron was -filled with them. Large golden coins of other countries, marked with all -sorts of heads of kings and birds.[1] There were some of them quite new, -with the portrait of a woman wearing a crown of feathers,[2] a single -one of which was worth more than a hundred francs. Never had we seen so -much gold. He gave a thousand francs to each of his sisters and a -thousand to me, his mother, and bought me this little house in which we -live. He squandered the rest in amusing himself at Paimpol and in doing -things which, certainly, were not good. But they are all like that, sir, -you know it better than I. For two months they spoke of none but him in -the town. - -"Then he left us again and we have not seen him since. He is a brave -sailor, sir, is my son Gildas, but he has been ruined as his father was -by his fondness for liquor." - -And the old woman bowed her head sadly as she spoke of this incurable -plague which destroys the families of Breton sailors. - -There was silence for a time, and then she spoke again to her daughter -in an earnest voice, looking at me the while. - -"She asks, sir, if you will make her this promise . . . about my -brother. . . ." - -Her anxious, searching gaze, fixed on me, affected me strangely. It is -no doubt true that all mothers, however far apart in station they may -be, have, in certain hours, the same expression. . . . And now it seemed -to me that this mother of Yves had some resemblance to mine. - -"Tell her that I swear to look after him _all my life, as if he were my -brother._" - -And the daughter repeated, translating slowly into Breton: - -"He swears that he will look after him all his life as if he were his -brother." - -The old mother had risen, upright as ever, stern and brusque; she had -taken from the wall a picture of Christ and had advanced towards me, -addressing me as if she wished to take me at my word, there and then, -with naïve, impulsive simplicity: - -"It is on this, sir, that she asks you to swear." - -"No, mother, no!" said Yves, in confusion, trying to interpose, to stop -her. - -But I held out my arm towards this picture of Christ, a little -surprised, a little moved, perhaps, and I repeated: - -"I swear to do what I have said." - -But my arm trembled a little because I foresaw that my responsibility -would be a heavy one in the future. - -And then I took Yves' hand. His head was bowed in thought: - -"And you will do what I tell you, you will follow me . . . _brother?_" - -And he replied, in a low voice, hesitating, his eyes turned away, but -with the smile of a child: - -"Why, yes . . . of course I will." - - -[Footnote 1: The Chilean _Condors._] - -[Footnote 2: The twenty piastre piece of California (the whalers -usually turn their savings into this money).] - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - -We had not long to sleep that night, _my brother and I_, in our little -beds in the cupboard. - -As soon as the old cottage cuckoo had announced four o'clock in its -cracked voice, quickly, we had to get up. We were due at Paimpol before -daybreak, to catch there at six o'clock the diligence for Guincamp. - -At half-past four, on this cold winter's morning, the poor little door -opened to let us out; it closed on a last kiss for Yves from his weeping -mother, on a last handshake for me. We set off in the cold rain and the -dark night, and for five years we saw them no more. - -That is what happens in the families of sailors. - -When we were half-way on our road we heard the Angelus sounding behind -us at Plouherzel. We thought we were late and began to run. Our faces -were bathed in perspiration when we reached Paimpol. - -But we had been mistaken; the hour of the Angelus had been put forward. - -We found a refuge in a tavern already open, where we had breakfast with -some Icelanders and other seafaring folk. - -And on the night of the same day, at eleven o'clock, we arrived back in -Brest to put to sea once more. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - -I was aware that I had accepted a heavy responsibility in adopting this -refractory brother, the more so because I took my oath very seriously. - -But fate separated us on the second day following, and soon we were half -the world apart. - -Yves set sail for the Atlantic, and I left for the Levant, for Stamboul. - -It was not until fifteen months later, in May, 1877, that we met again -on board the _Médée_, which was cruising between India and China. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - - -On board the _Médée_, May, 1877. - - -"This suits me as gaiters suit a rabbit," said Yves, with a boyish air, -as he contemplated his pagoda sleeves and his blue robe of Burmese silk. - -It was at Yé, a Siamese town, on the Bay of Bengal. He was sitting in -the background of a sailors' tavern on a stool of Chinese design. - -He was very drunk, and after he had smiled thus to see himself clothed -in the fashion of a Chinese mandarin, his eyes became dull and -lustreless, his lip curled and disdainful. At such moments there was -nothing he might not do, as in his bad days of old. - -By his side was big Kerboul, also a foresail topman, who had just had -brought to him fifteen glasses of a very expensive Singapore liquor, and -had drained them one after the other, breaking them afterwards with -blows of his fist, in the deadly serious way characteristic of the -drunken Breton. And the debris of these fifteen glasses covered the -table on which now he had put his feet. - -And Barrada, the gunner, was there too, handsome and calm as usual, -smiling his feline smile. The topman had invited him, exceptionally, to -their feast. And Le Hello also, and Barazère, and half a dozen others -of the mainsail and four of the bow-sprit--all attitudinizing, with -superb airs, in their Eastern robes. - -And even Le Hir was there, a half-witted fellow from the island of Sein, -whom they had brought as a laughing-stock, and who was drinking refuse -mixed with his bowl of rum. And, to complete the tale, two sea-rovers, -two blacklisted, deserters from every flag, old acquaintances of Yves', -who had found them, that evening, on the beach and, out of kindness, -brought them along. - -It was to celebrate the feast of Saint Epissoire, the patron saint of -the topmen, that they had foregathered here, and custom required that I -should put in an appearance among them, as navigating officer. - -For a year past they had not put foot on land. And the Commander, who -was well satisfied with his crew, had permitted them, as being the most -meritorious, to celebrate as in France the anniversary of their patron -saint. He had selected this town of Yé, because it seemed to him the -least dangerous for us, the people there being more inoffensive than -elsewhere and more easily appeased. - -In this room, which was large and low-pitched, with paper walls, there -was, at the same time as us, a band of sailors from an American -merchantship, who were drinking with sandy-haired, long-toothed women -escaped from the brothels of British India. - -And these intruders annoyed the topmen who wanted to be alone and let -them see it. - -_Eleven o'clock._ The candles had just been renewed in the coloured -lanterns, and outside the Siamese town was asleep in the warm night. -Inside one felt that trouble was brewing, that arms and fists were -itching for a fight. - -"Who are these fellows?" said one of the Americans, who spoke with a -Marseilles accent. "Who are these Frenchies who come here to lay down -the law? And that one who is with them"--this was meant for me--"the -youngest of them all, who gives himself airs and seems to be in -command?" - -"That one," said Yves, with the air of one who did not deign to turn his -head, "that one--any one who touches him will need to be a man!" - -"That one!" said Barrada. "Do you want to know who he is? Wait a moment -and we will tell you, without troubling him to speak for himself; and -you will see, my boys, _if that will enlighten you!_" - -Yves had already hurled at them his Chinese stool, which had burst the -wall just above their heads, and Barrada, with a first blow, had knocked -over two of them. The others overthrown in turn on top of the first two, -all struggling on the ground. Kerboul began to belabour the mass -unmercifully with his table, scattering over his enemies the debris of -his fifteen glasses. - -Then we heard outside the sounding of gongs and the ringing of bells, -rustlings of silk and shrill little laughs of women. - -And the dancing-girls entered. (The topmen had asked for dancing-girls.) - -The fighting stopped when they appeared, for they were strange to see. -Painted like Chinese idols, covered with gold and glistening stones, the -eyes half-closed, looking like little white slits, they advanced into -our midst with the smiles of dead women, holding their arms in the air -and spreading out their slender fingers, the long nails of which were -enclosed in golden sheaths. - -At the same time came perfumes of balm and incense; little sticks had -been set alight in a warming-dish, and an odorous, languorous smoke -spread in a blue cloud. - -The gongs sounded louder now and the phantoms began to dance, keeping -their feet motionless, executing a kind of rhythmic movement of the -stomach with twistings of the wrists. Always the same set smile, the -same white mask of death. It seemed that the only life there was in them -was concentrated in their rounded hips and arched stomachs which moved -with lascivious wrigglings; and in the rigid arms, the disturbing -outspread hands which writhed unceasingly. - -Le Hello who, for some time past, had been asleep on the floor, hearing -the loud sounding of the gongs, woke up, startled. - -"Why, you fool, it's the dancing-girls!" explained Barrada, jeering, -laughing at him. - -"Oh! yes! the dancing-girls!" - -He got up and with his large paw, which groped in the air, uncertain, he -tried to beat down these upraised arms and these gilded claws, -stuttering, thick-voiced. - -"It's not good, you white faced guy, it's not good to move your hands -like that, it's vulgar. . . . I think it's . . . I think it's . . . -damnation!" And he sank to the floor again and went to sleep. - -Barrada, who also this evening had drunk more than was usual with him, -reproached them for their yellow skin and told them about his, which was -white. "White! White! White!" He insisted over and over again on this -whiteness, which as a matter of fact he much exaggerated, and proceeded -presently to show it to them. First his arm, then his chest. "Look!" he -said. "Is it not true?" - -The little yellow dolls of Asia continued their slow, lugubrious, -beast-like wrigglings, preserving always the mystery of their rictus and -of their white elongated eyes. And now Barrada, completely nude, was -dancing before them, looking like a Greek marble which had suddenly -taken life for some ancient bacchanal. - -But the Burmese ladies, wound up like automata, danced on and on for -long after he was tired. And presently, when all was over and the gongs -were silent, the sailors were seized with fear at the idea that these -women, paid for their pleasure, were waiting for them. One after another -they slunk away in the direction of the shore, not daring to approach -them. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - - -This Barrada, who had "wangled" things so that he sailed for a third -time on the same ship with us, was the great friend of Yves. - -An illegitimate child, born and reared in the open on the quays of -Bordeaux. Very vicious, but with a good heart; full of contrasts, -certain elementary notions of human dignity were entirely wanting in -him; it was his pride to be better-looking than the others, more agile, -stronger, and a more artful "wangler." ("Wangler" and "wangling" are two -words which resume in themselves almost the whole life of the navy; they -have no academic equivalent.) - -In return for payment, Barrada taught on board every kind of exercise in -vogue among sailors: boxing, single-stick, fencing, with gymnastics into -the bargain, and singing and dancing. Supple as a clown; the friend of -all the travelling strongmen who posed in the studios of sculptors; -fighting for money in mountebank shows. - -An outstanding personality at the sailors' feastings, but always as a -guest, drinking freely, but never paying; drinking freely, but never -beyond his capacity, and passing through all sorts of revelry, without -losing his upright carriage, his smile, or his freshness. - -He was always ready with a mocking repartee which would never have -occurred to anyone else; his Gascon accent rendered his sallies more -comical; and then he used to punctuate his phrases with a kind of noise -that was peculiarly his own; a half laugh which sounded in his deep -chest like the hoarse yawning of a lion. - -Withal, honest, grateful, obliging to everyone, and faithful to his -friends; unequivocal in speech and answering always with the -disconcerting frankness of a child. - -And yet making money by any and every means, even by his beauty when the -occasion offered. And that, naïvely, with his unspoilt good nature, in -such a way that the others, who knew it, pardoned him as they would one -more like a child than themselves. Yves contented himself with saying: - -"That's not good, Barrada, I assure you . . ." and loved him none the -less. - -And all this was amassed, was condensed as it were in the form of large -pieces of gold sewn about his waist in a leathern belt. And its object -was to enable him, after his five years' re-engagement, to marry a -little Spanish dressmaker at Bordeaux, who worked in a large shop in the -Passage Sainte Catherine; a refined little workwoman whose photograph he -always carried with him, a photograph showing her in profile with a -fringe and an elegant fur toque trimmed with a bird's wing. - -"What can one do! She was my little sweetheart when I was a boy," he -used to say, as if it was necessary to make an excuse. - -And, while he was waiting for this little sweetheart, he abandoned -himself to many others, deliberately often, but sometimes in sheer -goodness of heart in the manner of Yves, because he shrank from giving -pain. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - - -AT SEA, _May, 1877._ - - -For two days now, the great sinister voice had been groaning round us. -The sky was very dark. It was like the sky in that picture in which -Poussin has tried to paint the deluge; only all the clouds were moving, -tormented by a wind that awakened fear. - -And this great voice continued to swell, growing deeper, incessant; it -was like a fury which was becoming exasperated. In our progress we ran -into enormous masses of water which came on in white-crested volutes and -passed as if in pursuit one of another; they rushed upon us with their -full force; and then there were mighty shocks and great dull sounds. - -Sometimes the _Médée_ reared, mounted over them, as if she, too, in -turn, was seized with fury against them. And then she descended again, -head first, into the treacherous hollows which lurked behind; she -touched the bottom of these kinds of valleys which opened rapidly -between high walls of water; and then made haste to climb once more, to -escape from between these curved, glistening, greenish walls, which -threatened to overwhelm her. - -An icy rain streaked the air with long white arrows, whipping, stinging, -like the blows of a lash. We had drawn nearer the north, in advancing -along the Chinese coast, and the unexpected cold bit into us. - -Aloft, in the rigging, they were trying to take in the topsails already -close hauled; the stormsail was already hard to carry and now, it was -necessary, at any cost, to make head against the wind, on account of the -doubtful countries which lay behind us. - -For two long hours the topmen were at work, blinded, lashed, stung by -all that fell over them, sheets of spray from the sea, sheets of rain -and hail from the sky; trying, with hands cramped with cold and -bleeding, to take in the stiff wet canvas which bellied in the furious -wind. - -But one saw nothing, heard nothing. - -It was difficult enough merely to prevent oneself from being swept away, -merely to hold fast to all these moving, wet and slippery things--but -they had besides to work high up in the air on their yards which, -swaying, had sudden, irregular movements, like the last beating of wings -of a great wounded bird in its death-throes. - -Cries of pain came from aloft, from this kind of hanging bunch of human -grapes. Cries of men, hoarse cries, more ominous than those of women, -because one is less accustomed to hear them; cries of horrible -suffering: a hand caught somewhere, fingers jammed, from which the flesh -was torn as they were drawn away--or maybe, some unfortunate fellow, -less strong than the others, numbed with cold, who felt that he could -hold out no longer, that his head was beginning to swim, that he was -about to let go and fall. And the others, out of pity, bound him and -tried to lower him to the deck. - -For two hours this lasted; they were exhausted, beat; flesh and blood -could do no more. - -Then they were ordered down, and in their place were sent up the men of -the larboard watch, who had been resting and were not so cold. - -They came down, pale, wet, with icy water streaming down their chest and -down their back, hands bleeding, nails torn, teeth chattering. For two -days they had lived in water, had scarcely eaten, had scarcely slept, -and their vitality was at an ebb. - -It is this long watching, this long labour in the damp cold, which are -the true horrors of the sea. Often poor fellows die, who, before they -utter their last cry, their last sob of agony, have remained for days -and nights wet through, dirty, covered with a muddy coating of cold -sweat and salt, with a kind of veneer of death. - -And still the wind increased. There were times when it whistled, shrill -and strident, as in a paroxysm of evil exasperation; and others again, -when its voice became deep, cavernous, powerful as the immense sounds of -cataclysm. And we continued to leap from wave to wave, and, save for the -sea which preserved still its unholy whiteness of foam and froth, -everything was becoming darker. A glacial twilight was falling upon us; -behind these dark curtains, behind all these masses of water which -climbed to the sky, the sun had disappeared at its due hour; it -abandoned us, and left us to find our way as best we could in the -darkness. . . . - -Yves had climbed with the larboard men into the disarray of the rigging, -and then I kept my eyes aloft, blinded myself also, and only seeing -momentarily now the human cluster in the air. - -And, suddenly, in a lurch more violent than any that had gone before, -the silhouette of this group was broken brusquely and changed its form; -two bodies broke away from it and fell with outspread arms into the -roaring volutes of the sea, while another crashed on the deck, without a -cry, falling as a man might who was already dead. - -"The foot-rope broken again!" said the officer of the watch, stamping -his foot with rage. "Some rotten rope which they gave us in that damned -port of Brest! Big Kerboul in the sea. And the other one, who was he?" - -Others, clinging to ropes, swung for some moments in the void and then -climbed, hand over hand, very rapidly, as monkeys might. - -I recognized Yves as one of the climbers, and breathed again. - -They threw out life-buoys as a matter of course for those who were in -the sea. But what was the use? The hope rather was that we should not -see them reappear, for if we did, on account of the danger of getting -broadside on to the rollers, we should not have been able to stop to -rescue them and should have needed the horrible courage to abandon them. -But a roll was called of those who remained in order to find out the -name of the second who had been lost: he was a very steady little -apprentice, whom his mother, a widow well on in years, had commended to -the care of the boatswain before the departure from France. - -The other, the one who had crashed on the deck, they carried below as -best they could, with great difficulty, letting him fall again on the -way; and lay him in the infirmary which had become a foul sink in which -swirled two feet of filthy, dark water, with broken bottles and odours -of all sorts of spilt remedies. Not even a place where he might die in -peace, for the sea had no pity on the sufferer; it continued to make him -dance, to toss him more than ever. A kind of sound came now from his -throat, a rattling which persisted for some little time, lost in the -great uproar of things. One might have been able to succour him perhaps, -to prolong his agony, with a little calm. But he died there quickly -enough, in the hands of the sick-berth attendants who had become stupid -with fear, and tried to make him eat. - -_Eight o'clock at night._ At this time the responsibility of the watch -was heavy and it was my turn to take it. - -We carried on as best we might. We could see nothing now. We were in the -midst of so much noise that the voices of the men seemed no longer to -have any sound; the blasts of the whistles, blown with full might, came -faintly, like the flute-like pipings of very small birds. - -We heard terrible blows struck against the sides of the ship, as by some -enormous battering-ram. And everywhere and always great hollows opened, -gaping wide; we felt ourselves being hurled into them, head lowered, in -the pitch darkness. And then a force struck us with a brutal strength, -carrying us high into the air, and the Médée vibrated in its whole -being, as it were, like a monstrous drum. In vain then we tried to hold -fast; we were forced to let go and quickly cling more strongly to -something else, shutting our mouths and eyes as we did so, because we -knew by instinct, without seeing, that it was the moment when a great -mass of water would sweep through the air and maybe sweep us away with -it. - -And this went on continuously, these headlong plunges, followed by these -leaps with their accompanying terrifying drum-like sounds. - -And, after each of these shocks came again the streaming of water -pouring in from all sides; the sound of a thousand things breaking, a -thousand fragments rolling in the darkness. And all this prolonged in a -sinister trail the horror of the first concussion. - -And the topmen and my poor Yves, what were they doing aloft? We could -see the masts, the yards, now and then in the darkness, in silhouette, -when the smarting pain caused by the hail allowed us to open our eyes -and look; we could see the shapes of the great crosses, with double -arms, after the fashion of Russian crosses, rocking in the darkness with -movements of distress, with crazy gestures. - -"Bring them down," said the Commander, who preferred the danger of the -unfurled sail to the fear of losing more of his men. - -I gave the order quickly, with a feeling of relief. But Yves, from -aloft, replied to me with the help of his whistle, that they had almost -finished; that they had only to replace one gasket which was broken, by -a makeshift knot, and then they would all come down, having taken in -their sail and completed their work. - -Afterwards when they were all down I breathed more freely. No one now -aloft, nothing more to be done up there, nothing to be done now but to -watch and wait. Then it seemed to me that the weather was almost fair, -that it was almost comfortable on this bridge, now that I was relieved -of the heavy weight of my anxiety. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - - -_Midnight._ The end of the watch; the hour when we could go and seek -shelter. - -Below, in the padded gun-room, one saw another aspect of the tempest, -the grim reality of the misery it caused in the entrails of the ship. - -Seen from end to end it was a kind of long dark hall dimly lighted by -flickering lanterns. The big guns, supported on their mountings, -remained more or less in position by virtue of their lashings of iron -cables. And this whole place was in motion; it had the movements of a -thing which is shaken in a sieve, shaken without respite, without mercy, -perpetually, with a blind rage; it creaked everywhere, it trembled like -an animate thing in pain, racked, exhausted, as if it were about to -burst and die. - -And the great waters outside, for ever seeking to enter, penetrated here -and there in little streams, in sinister spoutings. - -You were lifted up so quickly that your knees gave way--and then -suddenly things slipped from under you, sank beneath your feet--and you -descended with them, stiffening in spite of yourself, as for a kind of -resistance. - -There were shrill, discordant, alarming noises which came from all -round; all this framework in the form of a fish which was the _Médée_ -was loosening little by little, and groaning under the terrible strain. -And outside, on the other side of the wooden wall, always the same -immense deep sound, the same deep voice of horror. - -But all held fast nevertheless. The long gun-room remained intact, one -saw it still from end to end, sometimes tilted, half-overturned, -sometimes rising almost upright in a concussion, looking longer still in -this darkness in which the lanterns were lost, seeming to change its -shape and grow larger, in all this noise, as if it were some vague place -of dreamland. - -On the low ceiling were hung interminable rows of canvas pockets, -swollen all of them by their heavy contents, looking like the little -pockets which spiders hang to walls--grey pockets enclosing each a human -being, the sailors' hammocks. - -Here and there one saw an arm hanging out, or a bare leg. Some slept -peacefully, exhausted by their labours; others moved restlessly and -talked aloud in bad dreams. And all their hammocks swung and jostled one -another in a perpetual movement, and sometimes came in violent collision -and heads suffered. - -On the floor, beneath the hapless sleepers, was a lake of dark water -which swirled this way and that, carrying with it soiled articles of -clothing, pieces of bread and biscuit, spilt porridge, every sort of -debris and unclean refuse. And from time to time came men, pale, -exhausted, half-naked, shivering in their wet shirts, who wandered -beneath these rows of grey hammocks, seeking theirs, seeking their poor -little suspended bed, the only place where they might find a little -warmth, a little dryness, and what would have to serve for rest. They -stumbled as they passed, holding on to anything that offered to prevent -themselves from falling, and bumping their heads against those who -slept. Every man for himself in times such as this; none cared what -happened to another. Their feet slipped in the pools of water and filth; -they gave no more thought to their dirtiness than animals in distress. - -A suffocating reek filled the gun-room; all this filth which slid about -the floor gave the impression of a lair of sick beasts, and one smelt -the acrid stench which is peculiar to the hold of a ship in times of bad -weather. - -At midnight, Yves, in turn, descended into the gun-room with the other -men of the larboard watch; their spell of duty had been extended for an -hour on account of the necessity for securing the boats. They slid down -through the half-opened hatchway which closed upon them, and mingled -with this floating misery below. - -They had spent five hours at their rough work, rocked in the void, -lashed by the furious winds above, and soaked to the skin by the -stinging rain which seared their faces. They made a grimace of disgust -as they entered this closed place where the atmosphere savoured of -death. - -And Yves said, in his big disdainful way: - -"It's those Parisians[3] again, I'll bet, who have made this place -stink." - -They were not ill, these fellows who were real sailors: their lungs were -still filled with the wind of the masthead, and the healthy fatigue -which they had just endured assured them now of a wholesome sleep. - -They stepped on the rings, on the angle-blocks, on the ends of the -gun-carriages, with precaution, in order to avoid the dirty water and -the filth--placing their bare feet on any projection that offered, using -the precarious footholds of cats. Near their hammocks they undressed, -hung up their caps, hung up their large leather-chained knives, their -soaked clothing, hung up everything and hung up themselves; and when -they were stripped they brushed off with their hands the water which -trickled still down their muscular chests. - -After that, they raised themselves to the ceiling with the lightness of -acrobats, and stretched themselves, against the white beams, in their -narrow little canvas beds. Overhead, above them, after each shock, one -heard what seemed the passage of a cataract: the waves, the great masses -of water which swept the bridge. But the row of their hammocks assumed -nevertheless the slow swinging motion of the neighbouring rows, grinding -on the iron hooks, and they slept soundly in the midst of the mighty -uproar. - -Soon, around Yves' hammock, the Burmese women came and danced. In the -midst of a cloud of incense, rendered more murky by his dream, they came -one after another with their dead smile, in strange silken costumes, -covered with glistening stones. - -They swayed their haunches slowly, to the sound of the gong, their hands -upraised in the air, their fingers outspread, like so many phantoms. -They twisted their wrists in epileptic movements, and their long nails -enclosed in the golden sheaves became entangled. - -The gong--it was the tempest which sounded it, outside, against the -sides. . . . - -[Footnote 3: "Parisian" is a term of insult as used by sailors; it -means: no sailor, a weakling, a sick man.] - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - - -I, too, at midnight, when my watch was over and I had seen Yves descend, -returned to my room to try to sleep. After all, the fate of the ship -concerned us now no longer, me no more than them. We had done our spell -of watching and of work. We might sleep now with that absolute freedom -from care which one has at sea when the hours of duty are finished. - -In my own room, which was on the bridge, there was no lack of air--on -the contrary. Through the broken panes the wind and the furious rain -entered freely: the curtains twisted themselves into spirals and mounted -to the ceiling with the sound of wings. - -Like Yves, I hung up my wet clothes. The water streamed down my chest. - -Although my little bed could scarcely be said to be comfortable I fell -quickly asleep nevertheless, worn out by fatigue. Rolled, shaken, half -thrown out of bed, I felt myself swung from right and from left, and my -head bumped against the wood, painfully. I was conscious of all this in -my sleep, but I slept on. I slept on and dreamt of Yves. Seeing him fall -during the day had left me with a kind of uneasiness, as if some -sinister thing had brushed against me in passing. - -I dreamt I was lying in a hammock, as formerly during my first years at -sea. Yves' hammock was near mine. We were swinging violently and his -became unhooked. Beneath us there was a confused movement of something -dark which it seemed to me was deep water, and he, Yves, was about to -fall into it. I stretched out my hands to save him, but they seemed to -have no strength, they were nerveless as in dreams. I tried then to -seize him round the body, to knot my hands about his chest, remembering -that his mother had entrusted him to me; and I realized with anguish -that I could not do it, that I was no longer capable of it; he was going -to slip from me and to disappear in all this moving blackness which -roared beneath us. . . . And then, what struck me with a horror of fear, -was that he did not waken and he was icy cold, with a cold which -penetrated me also, to the marrow of my bones; and the canvas of his -hammock had become rigid like the sheath of a mummy. . . . - -And I felt in my head the real concussions, the real pain of all these -shocks, I mixed the real with the imaginary of my dream, as happens in -conditions of extreme fatigue, and on this account the sinister vision -assumed all the more intensity and life. - -Afterwards, I lost consciousness of everything, even of the movement and -noise, and then only did my rest begin. - -When I awoke it was morning. The first light was of that yellow colour -which is peculiar to the sunrise on days of tempest; and the roaring of -the wind persisted still. - -Yves came and opened my door a little and looked in. He propped himself -in the doorway, holding on by one hand, bending his body now this way -and now that, according to the needs of the moment, in order to preserve -his equilibrium. He had put on again his damp clothes, and was covered -with sea salt which was deposited in his hair, in his beard, in the form -of a white powder. - -He smiled, looking very calm and good-humoured. - -"I wanted to see you," he said, "for I dreamt about you a lot in the -night. All night long I saw those good Burmese ladies with their long -golden nails, you know. They surrounded you with their evil monkeyings, -and I could not drive them away. At last they wanted to eat you. -Fortunately the réveillé sounded then; I was in a cold sweat when I -awoke." - -"And I, too, am very glad to see you, my dear Yves, for I have dreamt a -lot about you also. Is it as rough as yesterday?" - -"Perhaps a little more manageable. And, anyhow, it's day. As long as -it's light, you know, it's always easier to work at the masthead. But -when it's as black as the devil's pit, as last night, I don't like it at -all." - -Yves glanced with satisfaction all round my room, arranged by him in -anticipation of bad weather. Nothing had budged, thanks to his -contrivance. On the floor there was indeed a pool of salt water in which -divers things floated; but the objects to which I attached more or less -value had remained suspended or fixed, like furniture, to the panels of -the walls by bolts or angle-irons. Everything had been corded, tied, -secured with an extreme care by means of tarred rope of various -thicknesses. Arms and bronzes had been wrapped in articles of clothing -in a strange higgledly-piggledly. Japanese masks with long human hair -gazed at us through a network of tarred thread; they had the same remote -smile, the same tilting of the eyes as the golden-nailed Burmese women -who, in Yves' dream, had wanted to eat me. . . . - -A bugle-call suddenly, brisk and joyful: the summons to "wash deck!" - -The bugle sounded a little thin, a little silvery, in the formidable -bellowing of the wind. - -To wash the deck when the seas were breaking over it might seem a -somewhat senseless operation to people who live on land. But we found -nothing very extraordinary in it; it was done every morning, without -fail and in all circumstances; it is one of the primordial rules of life -at sea. And Yves left me saying, as if it was the most natural thing in -the world: - -"I must be off to my washing station." - -Nevertheless the bugle had sinned by excess of zeal, and sounded without -order, at its usual hour; for this morning the deck was not to be -washed. - -One felt that things were more manageable, as Yves had said; the -movements were longer, more regular, more like the rollings of the -swell. The sea was less angry, and the deep, heavy-sounding concussions -were less frequent. - -And then it was day--a vile day, it is true, with a strange livid -yellowness, but day nevertheless, less sinister than the night. - -Our hour, it seemed, had not yet come, for on the second day following -we ran into calm water, in a port in China, at Hong Kong. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - - -_September_, 1877. - - -The _Médée_ had been homeward bound for many a day. - -Wind and current had favoured her. She sailed rapidly, so rapidly, for -days and nights on end, that one lost the notion of places and -distances. Vaguely we had seen pass the Straits of Malacca, taken in our -course; the Red Sea, ascended under steam in a blaze of sunlight; then -the point of Sicily, and at last the great couchant lion of Gibraltar. -Now we are watching the horizon and the first land, which may appear at -any moment, will be the land of Brittany. - -I had joined the _Médée_ only during the latter part of the voyage -and, this time, my tour with Yves will have lasted less than five -months. - -Amid the grey expanse little white lines now appear; then a tower with -dark little islets scattered about: all this still very distant and -scarcely visible in the dull wan daylight which envelopes us. - -We might imagine without any trouble that we were still at the other -side of the world, in that extreme Asia which we have lately left; for -things on board have not changed, nor faces either. We are still -encumbered with Chinese knick-knacks; we continue to eat fruits gathered -on the other side and still green; we carry with us odours, savours of -China. - -But no; our house has been translated very quickly; this tower and these -islets are the Pierres-Noires; Brest is there, quite near us, and before -night we shall have anchored there. - -Always an emotion of remembrance, when this great roadstead of Brest -appears, imposing and solemn, and these great sailing ships which one -rarely sees elsewhere. All my first impressions of the navy, all my -first impressions of Brittany--and then, too, it is France. - -There is the _Borda_ beyond; as I look at it, I can see again in my -mind's eye the desk over which I have pored in long hours of study; and -the blackboard on which I wrote feverishly, before the examination, the -complicated formulæ of mechanics and astronomy. - -Yves at that time was a small boy with a very serious and thoughtful -air, a little round-faced Breton apprentice, who dwelt in the near-lying -ship, the _Bretagne_, the neighbour and companion of the _Borda._ We -were children then--to-day we are grown men--to-morrow . . . old -age--the day after, death. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - - -Sunday, a day of great "boozing" in Brest. - -_Ten o'clock._ A calm night, with a moonlit, tranquil sea; on board the -Médée the sailors have finished singing their endless songs and -silence has supervened. - -Since the fall of darkness my eyes have been turned in the direction of -the lights of the town. I am awaiting with uneasiness the return of the -cutter of which Yves is in charge: it went ashore and has not returned. - -At last I see its red light approaching, two hours late! - -The sea is sonorous at night; in the distance I can hear cries mingling -with the sound of the oars; strange things seem to be happening in the -cutter. - -She has scarcely come alongside when three drunken petty officers, in a -state of fury, hasten on board and demand of me the head of Yves: - -"He must be put in irons straightway; he must be tried and shot -afterwards, for he has struck his superior officers." - -Yves was standing there, trembling from the conflict in which just now -he was engaged. These three petty officers have fought with him, or at -any rate have tried to make him fight. - -"They wanted to put me in the wrong!" he said disdainfully; and he swore -that he had not returned the blows of the three men; for that matter he -could have knocked all three of them over with his open hand. No; he let -them lay hold of him and pull him about; they scratched his face and -tore his clothes into ribbons, because he refused to allow them to take -charge of the cutter, drunk as they were. - -All the crew of the cutter were drunk also, by the fault of Yves, who -had allowed them to drink. - -And the three petty officers remained standing there, quite near him, -continuing to shout, to revile, to threaten, three old drunkards, -grotesque in their stuttering fury, very ridiculous if discipline, that -implacable thing, had not been on their side to make the scene terribly -grave. - -Yves, upright, his fists clenched, his hair over his forehead, his shirt -torn, his chest all bare, tried almost beyond endurance by these -insults, itching to strike, appealed to me with his eyes, in his -distress. - -Oh! discipline, discipline! There are times when it is harsh indeed. I -am the officer of the watch and it is contrary to all rules that I -should interfere except to speak non-committal words, and to hand them -all over to the justice of the ship's police. - -Contrary to all rules, however, I leap down from the bridge and throw -myself on Yves--it was none too soon!--I pass my arms round his arms, -and thus restrain him at the very moment when he is about to strike. - -And I fix my eyes on the others, who then, in the presence of this turn -in the situation, beat a retreat in the manner of dogs before their -master. - -Happily it is dark--and there are no witnesses. Only the cutter's crew -and they are drunk--and, moreover, I am sure of them: they are good -fellows all and if it is necessary to go before a courtmartial, they -will not bear witness against us. - -Then I take Yves by the shoulders and passing in front of his three -enemies, who fall back to let us pass, I lead him to my room and lock -him in. There for the moment he is safe. - -I am summoned before the Commander who has been awakened by the noise. -Unfortunately I have to explain the matter to him. - -And I explain, extenuating as much as possible the fault of my poor -Yves. I explain; and then, for some mortal minutes, I beg; I believe -that never in my life had I begged before, it seems to me that it is no -longer I who am speaking. And all I can say and all I can do breaks down -against the cold logic of this man who holds in his hands the very -existence of Yves, which has been entrusted to me. - -I have, however, succeeded in removing the gravest of the matters, the -question of striking a superior officer; but the insults remain and the -refusal to obey. Yves has done these things: in substance, the charges -are unfair and revolting; in the letter, they are true. - -He is ordered to be put in irons at once, to begin with, and to be sent -below under guard, on account of the disturbance and scandal. - -Poor Yves! An unrelenting fatality has pursued him, for, this time, he -was not really culpable. And this misfortune came upon him at the very -time when he was becoming steadier, when he was making great efforts to -give up drinking and behave himself. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - - -When I returned to my room to tell him that he was to be put in irons, I -found him sitting on my bed, his fists and teeth clenched with rage. His -passionate Breton temper had got possession of him. - -Stamping his foot, he declared that he would not go--it was too -unjust!--unless they carried him by force, and that he would kill the -first man that came to take him. - -Then I saw that he was lost indeed, and my heart ached for him. What -could be done? The guard was there, outside my door, waiting to lead him -away and I dared not open; seconds and minutes passed and I could find -no pretext for further delay. - -An idea came to me, suddenly: I entreated him very gently, in the name -of his mother, reminding him of my oath and, for the second time in my -life, calling him brother. - -Yves wept. It was over; he was vanquished and docile. - -I threw some water over his forehead, adjusted his shirt a little and -opened my door. All this had not lasted three minutes. - -The guard appeared. He rose and followed, meek as a child. He looked -back and smiled at me, went and replied with calmness to the -interrogatory of the Commander, and proceeded peacefully to the hold to -be put in irons. - -About midnight, when this arduous watch was over, I went to bed, sending -to Yves a blanket and a cloak. (For the nights already were cold.) And -this in my helplessness was all that I could now do for him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - - -The next day, a Monday, the Commander sent for me early, and I entered -his room with a feeling of resentment in my heart, with bitter words -ready on my lips, which I would have uttered at the outset in revenge -for my supplications of yesterday, if I had not feared to aggravate -Yves' lot. - -I was mistaken, however: he had been touched the previous night and had -understood me. - -"You may go to your friend. Give him a good talking to, but say that I -pardon him. The affair will go no farther and will be put right by a -simple disciplinary punishment. He will remain eight days in irons, and -that will be all. I inflict on the three petty officers, at your -instance, the equivalent punishment of eight days' close arrest. I do -this for you, who look upon him as a brother, and for his sake also, -for, after all, he is the best man we have on board." - -And I went away with feelings very different from those with which I had -come, regarding him indeed with gratitude and affection. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - - -A corner of the hold of the _Médée_, in all the disarray of laying up. -A lantern illumines a vast medley of heterogeneous objects more or less -nibbled by rats. - -A dozen or so sailors--Barrada, Guiaberry, Barazère, Le Hello, all the -little band of friends--are grouped about a man lying on the floor. It -is Yves in irons, stretched on the damp boards, his head supported on -his elbow, his foot in the padlocked ring of the "bar of justice." - -The most implacable of his three enemies. Petty Officer Lagatut, stands -before him, threatening him in his old drunken voice. He threatens him -with revenge for that affair of the cutter, in which, to his mind, I had -taken too large a part. - -He has quitted his close arrest to come and abuse him--and I, whose -watch it is and who am making a round, enter from behind and find him -there--the old rogue is very neatly caught! The sailors who saw me -enter, chuckle quietly in their sleeves, in anticipation of what is -about to happen. Yves makes no reply, contenting himself with turning -over and presenting his back to his tormentor with supreme insolence. -For he, too, had seen me enter. - -"We have begun a game of écarté together," said Petty Officer Lagatut; -"you, Kermadec, boatswain; I, Lagatut, chief gunner, decorated with the -Legion of Honour. Thanks to certain officers who protect you, you have -taken the first two tricks: it remains to see who is going to take the -three others." - -"Petty Officer Lagatut," said I from behind, "we will play a -three-handed game, if you are agreeable: a game of _rams_, that will be -more amusing. And you, my good Yves, take another trick." - -A chicken finding a knife, a thief who stumbles against a policeman, a -mouse, which, by inadvertence, puts its paw on a cat, have not a longer -face than Petty Officer Lagatut at that moment. - -This little pleasantry of mine was not perhaps in the best of form. But -the gallery, which was very friendly to us, greatly enjoyed this triumph -of Yves. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV - - -Eight days afterwards our frigate was completely disarmed and laid up in -a remote part of the dockyard, the crew was paid off and the _Médée_ -might be described as a dead ship. - -I was going away, and Yves accompanied me to the railway. The station -was crowded with sailors; all those of the _Médée_ who also were -leaving; and others again who, taking French leave, had come to see them -off. - -Amongst them were many old acquaintances of ours, protégés and friends -of Yves. And all these good fellows, rather tight, doffed their caps and -bade us good-bye with effusion. It was a scene such as is usual when a -ship is paid off; for a ship which finishes in this way is something -apart; it marks the end of so many acquaintances, so many rancours, so -many hates, so many sympathies. - -At the entrance to the waiting-room, as I gripped Yves' hand, I said to -him: - -"You will write to me at any rate?" - -And he replied: - -"I was going to explain to you," and he hesitated still, with an -amiable, shamefaced smile. "Well, here goes! I was going to explain to -you that I do not know what to put at the beginning." - -And it was true that the appellations "Captain, Dear Captain," and -others of the same kind, would scarcely any longer do. What should it -be, then? I replied: - -"Why, but that's very simple," and I cast about for a long time for this -simple thing and could not find it. "That's very simple. Put . . . put: -'My dear brother'; that will be true in the first place, and, for the -purpose of a letter, very suitable." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI - - -It was about six weeks after the _Médée_ had been laid up at Brest and -I had separated from Yves, when one day, at Athens, I think, I received -this surprising letter: - - -"BREST, _15th September_, 1877. - -"MY DEAR BROTHER,--I write you these few words, in haste to let you know -that I got married yesterday. And, you may be sure, I would have asked -your advice in advance, but, you must understand, I had no time to lose -having been named to join the _Cornélie_, and having only eight days -before me to spend with my wife. - -"I think that you will find, you also, my dear brother, that this is -better than being always moving about, as you know, from one ship to -another. My wife's name is Marie Keremenen; I may tell you I am very -proud of her and think we shall get on very well together if only I can -settle down. - -"I will write you a longer letter before I leave, my dear brother, and I -can assure you I am very sad at the idea of embarking without you. - -"I end by embracing you with all my heart. - -"Your loving brother, - -"YVES KERMADEC. - - -"P.S.--I have just learnt that my destination is altered; I am embarking -on the _Ariane_ which does not leave until the middle of November. That -gives me nearly two months to spend with my wife. We shall have good -time in which to get to know one another, and you may be sure I am very -pleased." - - -On their return from their voyages, sailors are wont to do all sorts of -stupid things with their money; it is a thing excused by tradition. And -seaport towns have reason to know their rather wild eccentricities. - -Sometimes, even, they marry, by way of pastime, the first woman that -offers in order to have an occasion for donning a black coat. - -And Yves, who had already in times past exhausted all kinds of -foolishness, he, too, for a change, had finished by marrying. - -Yves married! And to whom in heaven's name? Perhaps some shameless hussy -of the town, picked up by chance in an hour when he was tipsy! - -I had good reason to be uneasy, remembering a certain creature in a -feathered hat whom he had been on the point of marrying for a lark--when -he was twenty--in this same town of Brest. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII - - -Two months later, when the _Ariane_ was about to depart, fate decreed -that I, too, should be appointed, at the last moment, to join its staff. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII - - -At the moment of leaving I saw this Marie Keremenen, whom I had half -dreaded to meet. She was a young woman of about twenty years of age, -dressed in the costume of the village of Toulven, in lower Brittany. - -Her fine dark eyes were clear and frank. Without being absolutely -pretty, she had a certain charm in her embroidered bodice, her white -wide-winged head-dress, and her large collarette recalling a Medici -ruff. - -There was about her something candid, something wholesome which it did -you good to see. It seemed to me that she was exactly what I should have -looked for if it had fallen to me to choose for my brother Yves. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX - - -Chance had brought the two together, one day when she was on a visit to -her godmother in Brest. - -The lover lost no time, and she, won over by Yves' manly air, by his -honest, winning smile, had been induced to consent--not without a -certain uneasiness, nevertheless--to this precipitate marriage, which -was going, for a start, to make her a widow for some seven or eight -months. - -She had a little fortune as they say in the country, and was going to -return, as soon as we had left, to her parents' home in her village of -Toulven. - -Yves confided to me that they were expecting the arrival of a child. - -"You will see," he said. "I bet that he will arrive just in time for our -return." - -And he embraced his wife, who was weeping. We departed. Once more we -were going to cruise in the blue domain of the flying fish and dorados. - - - - -CHAPTER XL - - -15_th November_, 1877. - - -On the day before we sailed, Yves had obtained a special permission to -go ashore during the day in order that he might see, in the naval -hospital, his eldest brother, Gildas, the fisher of whales, who had just -arrived in a half dead condition, and whom he had not seen for ten -years. - -Gildas Kermadec was a man of about forty, tall, with features more -regular than Yves'. In his eyes there was still a kind of dead fire. He -must at one time have been exceedingly handsome. - -He was paralysed and dying, destroyed by alcohol and excess of all -kinds; he had lived a life of pleasure, sown his wild oats, and spent -his strength on all the world's highways. - -He came forward slowly, leaning on a stick, upright and well-set still, -but dragging a leg, and with haggard eyes. - -"Oh, Yves!" he said, and he repeated it three times: "Oh, Yves! Oh, -Yves!" - -It was scarcely articulate; for he was paralysed in speech also. He -opened his arms to embrace Yves and tears ran down his bronzed cheeks. - -There were tears in Yves' eyes also. . . . And then, quick, it was time -to go. The leave that had been given him was only for an hour. - -For that matter, Gildas found nothing more to say. He had made Yves sit -down beside him on a hospital bench, and, holding his hand, looked at -him with bewildered eyes that were near to dying. At first indeed he did -try to say many things which seemed to press in his head; but there -issued from his lips only inarticulate sounds, hoarse, deep, painful to -hear. No, he could speak no more; and he contented himself with holding -Yves' hand and gazing at him with an infinite sadness. - -. . . . . . . . . . - -Yves carried away a profound impression of this last interview with his -brother Gildas. They had only seen each other twice since Gildas had -gone to sea. But they were brothers, brothers of the same cottage and of -the same blood, and in that there is something mysterious, a bond which -nothing can break. - -A month later, at our first place of call, we learnt that Gildas was -dead. And Yves put a band of mourning on his woollen sleeve. - - - - -CHAPTER XLI - - -On board the _Ariane, May_, 1878. - - -The island of Teneriffe appears before us like a kind of large pyramidal -edifice, placed on an immense reflecting mirror which is the sea. The -rugged sides, the gigantic ridges of the mountains are brought near, in -little, by the extreme, unbelievable clearness of the air. One can -distinguish everything: the sharp angles touched with rose, the hollows -touched with blue. And the whole rests on the sea like a picture in a -child's scrap-book, infinitely light, weightless. A sharp line of clouds -pearly-grey in colour cuts Teneriffe horizontally in two, and, above, -the peak rears its great cone bathed in sunlight. - -The gulls are making an extraordinary racket around us; they cry and -beat the air with their white wings in one of those accessions of -frenzy, which seize them sometimes for what reason it is impossible to -say. - -_Midday._ The crew had just finished dinner. The whistle had sounded: -"The port watch will clear away!" And Yves, who was on the port watch on -board the _Ariane_, came up on deck and approached me, blowing his -whistle softly to assure himself that it was still in good order. - -"What is the matter with the gulls to-day? They were puling all the time -during dinner, did you hear them?" - -To be sure I did not know what was the matter with the gulls. But, since -it was necessary, out of politeness, to make some sort of reply to Yves, -I answered him in this wise: - -That the gulls had asked to speak to the officer of the watch, who to be -precise was myself. They wanted news of their little cousin Pierre -Kermadec; and I had replied to them: "My good sirs, little Pierre -Kermadec, my godson, is not yet born; you are too soon, come back in a -few days' time, when we are at Brest." On that, as you see, they have -departed. Look over there how they have all made off. - -"You have given me a very pretty answer," said Yves, who did not often -smile. "But I tell you, I dreamt much about this again last night and, -do you know, a fear has come to me. It is that it may be a little girl." - -It would indeed be a sad disappointment if the expected godson should -turn out to be a little girl! It would not then be possible to call the -newcomer Pierre. - -This kinship of Yves' little child with the gulls was not of my -invention: "gull" was the name given to the topmen on board the -_Ariane_, and the name they gave to one another amongst themselves. It -was not surprising, therefore, that my little godson should be deemed a -blood relation of this bird of the sea. - -And so, when we talked of him in our conversations at night, we used -always to say: - -"When will the 'little seagull' arrive?" - -And we never referred to him in any other way. - - - - -CHAPTER XLII - - -BREST, 13_th June_, 1878. - - -We are staying for to-day at a casual lodging in the Rue de Siam at -Brest, where the _Ariane_ anchored this morning. - -In reply to the advice of his arrival, Yves received from Toulven, from -his wife's father, the following telegram: - - -"Little son born last night. Is going on very -well. Marie also. - -"CORENTIN KEREMENEN." - - -When night came and we were in bed it was impossible to sleep. I heard -Yves turning in his bed, "going about" as he said in his Breton accent. -At the thought that on the morrow he would be on the road to Toulven to -see his little firstborn, his honest manly heart overflowed with all -kinds of sentiments which were quite new to him. - -Two days after him, I, too, would be due at Toulven for the baptism. - -And he made a thousand and one projects for this ceremony: - -"I hardly dare to say it, but, if you would like, at Toulven, to stay -with us. . . . At my father-in-law's place, you know. . . . To be sure -it is not like the town, as I need not tell you. . . ." - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII - - -BREST, 15_th June_, 1878. - - -In the early morning I set out for Toulven where Yves has been awaiting -me since yesterday. - -The weather is magnificent. Old Brittany is green and decked with -flowers. Along the road are large woods and rocks. - -Yves is waiting for me on the arrival of the diligence which I caught at -Bannalec. Beside him is a girl of eighteen or nineteen, who blushes, -looking very pretty in her large coif. - -"This is Anne," says Yves to me, "my sister-in-law, the godmother." - -There is still some distance between the little town and the cottage in -which they live at Trémeulé in Toulven. - -Some village lads lift my luggage on their shoulders, and I set out to -make my visit to the sea-gull which has just been born; to make the -acquaintance also of this Breton family, into which Yves has entered in -his headlong way without very clearly knowing why. - -What will they be like, these new relations of my brother Yves--and this -new country which is to become his? - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV - - -We make our way all three along sunken lanes, which vanish in front of -us under the shade of beech trees and are overgrown with ferns. - -It is evening; the sky is overcast, and in these lanes there is a kind -of night which is perfumed with honeysuckle. - -Here and there, on the roadside, are grey cottages, very old and covered -with moss. - -From one of them comes a lullaby, sung in slow cadence by a voice which -also is very old: - - -"Boudoul, boudoul, galaïchen![4] -Boudoul, boudoul, galaïch du!" - - -"It is _he_ they are rocking," said Yves, smiling. "Come in!" - -This cottage of the old Keremenen people is half-buried and overgrown -with moss. Above it the oaks and beeches spread their green vault; it -seems as old as the earth of the lanes. - -Inside the light is dim; one sees the press-beds in line with cupboards -along the rough granite of the walls. - -A grandmother in a large white collarette is within, singing beside the -new-born son, singing an air of the time of her own childhood. - -In an old-fashioned Breton cradle, which, before him, had rocked his -forbears, lies the little sea-gull: a fat baby three days old, very -round, very dark, already tanned like a mariner, and sleeping now with -his closed fists under his chin. He has a growth of short hair, which -appears below his bonnet on his forehead, like the coat of a mouse. I -kiss him affectionately, for he is Yves' baby. - -"Poor little sea-gull!" I say as I touch as gently as possible the -little mouse's coat, "he has not so far got many feathers." - -"That's true!" says Yves, smiling. "And look," he added, opening with -infinite precaution the little closed fist and spreading it on his rough -hand. "I have not been very successful: he is not web-footed." - -We are told that Marie Keremenen is lying in one of the beds, the little -perforated wooden door of which has been closed on her, because she has -just fallen asleep; we lower our voices for fear of awakening her, and -Yves and I go out, for we have many things to see to in the village in -view of to-morrow's ceremony. - - -[Footnote 4: These words have no meaning in Breton, any more than -"mironton, mirontaine" in the old French lullaby. They were probably -invented by the old woman who sang them.] - - - - -CHAPTER XLV - - -It seems odd to us to find ourselves performing the formal duties of -citizens in the way of the world in general. At the Mairie, and at the -parish priest's house, we feel very awkward and at moments are hard put -to it not to laugh. - -The little sea-gull is definitely registered in the records of Toulven -under the Christian names of Yves-Pierre--his father's name and mine, in -accordance with the custom of the country. And it is arranged with the -priest that he will await us at nine o'clock to-morrow morning, at the -church, and that there shall be a _Te Deum._ - -"And now let us go straight home," says Yves. "The old man is probably -in already and they will be waiting supper for us." - - - - -CHAPTER XLVI - - -The June night was falling slowly, bringing peace and silence over the -Breton countryside. In the sunken lanes it was becoming difficult to -see. - -Old Corentin Keremenen had in fact returned from his work in the fields -and was waiting for us at his door. He had had time even to change his -clothes: he was wearing now his large silver-buckled hat and his -feast-day jacket of blue cloth ornamented with metal spangles and, on -the back, with an embroidery representing the Blessed Sacrament. - -There is an air of joyous movement in the cottage, an air of -celebration. The copper candlesticks are on the table which has been -covered with a handsome cloth. The presses, the stools, the old oak -woodwork shine like mirrors. One guesses that Yves has been busy. - -The candles illumine only the centre of the room, leaving the rest in -gloom. There are movements of large white things which are the -wide-winged coifs and pleated collarettes of the women; but otherwise -the backgrounds are dark; the light dies as it flickers on the granite -of the walls, on the irregular and time-blackened beams which support -the thatch of the roof. This thatch and this rough granite still -preserve in the Breton villages a note of the primitive epoch. - -Supper is served and we take our places, Yves on my left, Anne on my -right. - -It is a plenteous repast: chickens served with different sauces, wheaten -cakes, savoury and sweet omelettes; and wine and golden cider which -foams in our glasses. - -Yves says to me aside in a low voice: - -"He is a very good man, my father-in-law; and my mother-in-law Marianne, -you cannot imagine what a good woman she is! I am very fond of them -both." - -During the evening a girl brings from the village clean starched things -of voluminous dimensions. Anne hastens to conceal them in a press, while -Yves, with a glance of intelligence, says: - -"You see what preparations are being made in your honour!" - -I had guessed what they were: the ceremonial head-dress and the immense, -embroidered, thousand-pleated collarette, with which she was going to -adorn herself for to-morrow's festival. - -And I, on my side, have a number of little packets which I want to bring -out, unperceived, with Yves' help from my trunk: sweets, sugar-plums, a -gold cross for the godmother. But Anne has seen it all from the corner -of her eye and starts to laugh. So much the worse! After all it is -difficult to succeed in making mystery in a dwelling which has only one -door and only one room for everybody. - -Little Pierre, round as ever, a little bronze baby, continues to sleep -in the same position, his closed fists under his chin. Never was a -new-born baby so beautiful and so good. - -When I take my leave of them, Yves gets up also in order to accompany me -as far as the village, where I am going to sleep at the inn. - -Outside, in the sunken lane, under the branches, it is now pitch dark; -we are enveloped by a double obscurity, that of the trees and that of -the night. - -It is a kind of peace to which we are not accustomed, the peace of the -woods. And there is no sea; the country of Toulven is far away from it. -We listen; it seems to us still that we ought to hear in the distance -its familiar sound. But no; all about is silence. Nothing but scarcely -perceptible rustlings in the thick greenery, soft sounds of wings -opening, slight quiverings of birds dreaming in their sleep. - -There is still the perfume of honeysuckle; but, with the night, have -come a penetrating freshness and odours of moss, of earth, of the -dampness of Brittany. - -All this sleeping countryside, all these wooded hills which surround us, -all these slumbering trees, all these tranquillities oppress us. We feel -rather like strangers in the midst of it all, and we miss the sea, the -sea which, after all, is the great open space, the great unconfined -field over which we are accustomed to run. - -Yves suffers these impressions and tells me of them in a naïve way, a -way peculiarly his own, which would scarcely be intelligible to anyone -but me. In the midst of his happiness, an uneasiness troubles him this -evening, almost a regret that he should unthinkingly have fixed his -destiny in this remote little cottage. - -And presently we come upon a calvary, stretching out in the darkness its -two grey arms, and we think of all these old granite chapels which lie -here and there around us, isolated in the beech woods . . . in which the -souls of the dead keep vigil. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVII - - -On the following day, Thursday, the 16th of June, 1878, in radiant -weather, the baptismal party gets ready in the cottage of the -Keremenens. - -Anne, her back turned towards me in a corner, adjusts her coif before a -mirror, a little embarrassed to be obliged to do so in my presence; but -the cottages of Brittany are not large, and they have no other -separations within than the little cupboards in which one sleeps. - -Anne is dressed in a costume of black cloth, the open corsage of which -is embroidered with different coloured silks and silver spangles; she -wears an apron of blue moire, and, overflowing her shoulders, a white -thousand-pleated collarette which remains rigid like a ruff of the -sixteenth century. For my part, I have put on a uniform with bright gold -facings and, certainly, we shall make a pretty picture presently, arm in -arm, in the green lane. - -In attendance on the baby this morning is a new personage, a very ugly -and very extraordinary old woman, who assumes an air of much importance -and receives general obedience: she is the nurse, it appears. - -"She looks rather like a witch," says Anne, who guesses my thought. "But -she is really a very good woman." - -"Oh! yes, a very good woman indeed," confirms old Corentin. "Her -appearance is not attractive, it is true, but she is attentive to her -religion and in fact, last year, obtained great blessings in the -pilgrimage of Saint Anne." - -Bent double like Hecate, with a nose hooked like the beak of an owl and -little grey eyes rimmed with red, which blink very rapidly in the manner -of those of fowls, she goes this way and that, very busily, in her large -stiff ceremonial collarette; when she speaks, her voice startles like a -sound of the night; you might imagine you heard the brown owl of the -tombs. - -Yves and I at first did not like this old woman's attentions to the -newcomer; but we found consolation in the thought that, for fifty years, -she had been presiding at the birth of children in this region of -Toulven, without having brought harm to any one of them. Quite the -contrary in fact. Besides, she observes conscientiously all the ancient -rites, such as making the little one drink before the baptism a certain -wine in which its mother's wedding ring has been dipped, and many others -which must on no account be neglected. - -In this little cottage, deep-sunken in the ground and very much in -shadow, one sees just as much as is necessary and no more. A little -daylight enters by the door; at the back there is also a dormer Window -sparingly contrived in the thickness of the granite, but the ferns have -invaded it. They are seen, in transparency, like the intricate figurings -of a green curtain. - -At last little Pierre's toilet is finished and without so much as a cry. -I should have liked him better dressed as a little Breton; but no, this -son of Yves is all in white, with a long embroidered robe and bows of -ribbon, like a little gentleman of the town. He looks more vigorous and -browner than ever in this doll's dress; the poor little town babies, who -go to their baptism in similar attire, are not, as a rule, so strong and -lusty. - -Nevertheless, I am constrained to recognize that at present he is not a -beauty; probably he will improve as time goes on; but at the moment he -has the bloated look of a new-born kitten. - -Outside, in the fern-clad lane, under the green vault, are moving -already several large white coifs and embroidered cloth bodices similar -to those of Anne. They belong to young women who have come out of -neighbouring cottages and are waiting to watch us pass. - -Anne and I set out, arm in arm. Little Pierre leads the way, in the arms -of the old woman, with the birdlike beak, who hurries on with short -quick steps, waddling strangely like some old hag. And big Yves brings -up the rear, in his wedding clothes, very serious, a little surprised to -find himself at such a ceremony, a little shy, too, at having to walk -alone as custom, however, prescribes that he must. - -In the fine June morning we make our way gaily down the Breton lane; -above our heads the covering of the oaks and beeches sifts little rounds -of light which fall in thousands, like a white rain, through the -verdure. The hanging clematis is intertwined with honeysuckle, and the -birds are singing a welcome to this little sea-gull who is making his -first appearance in the sun. - -We are now in Toulven which is almost a little town. The good people are -at their doors and we pass slowly along the main street on our way to -the church. - -It is very old, is Toulven church. It stands up all grey in the blue -sky, with its tall perforated granite steeple, which in places is -yellowed by lichen. It overlooks a large pond, motionless and -water-lilied, and a series of uniformly wooded hills which form, in the -background, an immemorial horizon. - -All around, an ancient enclosure: the cemetery. Crosses border the -sacred pathway; they emerge from a carpet of flowers, carnations and -white Easter daisies. And in the more neglected parts where time has -levelled the little mounds of turf, there are still flowers for the -dead: silenes, and the foxgloves of the fields of Brittany; the ground -is pink with them. The tombs are thick near the door of the age-old -church, as on the mysterious threshold of eternity; this tall grey thing -rising up here, this steeple uplifted in eager aspiration, it seems as -if it does in fact protest a little against annihilation; in raising -itself into the sky, it appeals, it supplicates; it is like an eternal -prayer immobilized in granite. And the poor tombs buried in the grass -await there, with greater confidence, at this threshold of the church, -the sound of the last trump and the voice of the Apocalypse. - -There, also, no doubt, when I am dead or broken by old age, there also -will they lay my brother Yves; he will give back to the Breton earth his -unbelieving head and the body which he had taken from it. Later again -little Pierre will find there his last resting-place--if the great sea -shall not have kept him from us--and, on their tombs the pink flowers of -the fields of Brittany, the wild foxgloves, the luxuriant grasses of -June, will flourish as they do to-day, in the warm summer sunshine. - -In the porch of the church were all the children of the village looking -very solemn. And the parish priest was there too, awaiting us in his -ceremonial vestments. - -The architecture of the porch was very primitive, and the stones had -been worn by many Breton generations; there were shapeless saints, -carved in the granite, who were aligned like so many gnomes. - -There was a protracted ceremony at the door. The owl-faced old woman had -placed little Pierre in our hands and we held him between us, the -godmother, according to prescribed usage, holding the feet and I the -head. Yves, leaning against a granite pillar, watched us with an air of -reverie, and indeed Anne looked very pretty, in this grey porch, with -her handsome dress and her large ruff, caught in the full light of a ray -of the sun. - -Little Pierre made a slight grimace and passed the end of his tiny -tongue over his lip with an air of distaste, when the salt, the emblem -of the sorrows of life, was put in his mouth. - -The priest recited long _oremuses_ in Latin, after which he said in the -same language to the little seagull: _Ingredere, Petre, in domum -Domini._ And then we entered the church. - -The saints there, in niches, dressed in the costume of the sixteenth -century, watched little Pierre make his entry, with the same placid and -mystic air with which they have seen born and die ten generations of -men. - -At the baptismal font there was again a very long ceremony and then Anne -and I had to take our places before the screen of the choir, kneeling -like a newly-wedded pair. - -Finally it fell to me to take unaided this son of Yves, whom I was -fearful of breaking in my unaccustomed hands, and, climbing the steps of -the altar with this precious little burden, to make him kiss the white -cloth on which the Blessed Sacrament rests. I felt very awkward in -uniform; it seemed as if I were carrying a weight of great heaviness. I -had not imagined that it would be so difficult to hold a new-born babe; -and yet he was asleep: if he had been moving I should never have been -able to manage it. - -All the children of the village were waiting for us as we came out, -little Bretons with shy looks, round cheeks and long hair. - -The bells sounded joyously from the top of the old grey steeple and the -_Te Deum_ burst out behind us, sung lustily by little choir boys in red -cassocks and white surplices. - -We were allowed to pass, still tranquil and devout, along the flowered -alley bordered by the tombs--but, afterwards, when we were outside! - -Little Pierre, the cause of all this commotion, had gone on ahead, -carried away more and more quickly by the hook-nosed beldam and sleeping -still his innocent sleep. And the assault fell upon Anne and me: little -boys and little girls surrounded us, shouting and jumping; there were -some of these little girls who could be no more than five years old, and -who yet wore already large collars and large head-dresses similar to -those of their mothers; and they skipped around us like very comical -little dolls. - -It was a strange thing, the joy of these little Breton people, -pink-cheeked with long curls of yellow silk; mere buds of life, and -dressed already in the costume and fashion of olden times--bubbling over -with a heedless joy--as once upon a time their forbears, and they are -dead! Joy of a new overflowing life, joy such as kittens have, and kids, -and, after ten years, they die; puppies and lambkins know this self-same -joy and gambol as these children here--and time passes and they are -killed! - -We scattered among them handfuls of sugarplums, and our whole route was -sown with sweets. The baptism of the little sea-gull will be remembered -in Toulven for many a long year. - -Afterwards, we found once more the quiet of the Breton lane, the long -green alley, and, at the end of it, the primitive hamlet. - -It was now near noon; butterflies and flies made merry in the air all -along our road. The day was very warm for Brittany. - -In broad daylight the roof of the cottage of the old Keremenens was a -veritable garden: a quantity of little flowers, white, yellow and red, -were installed there with a great variety of ferns, and the whole was -sprinkled with sunlight, which filtered through the overhanging oaks. - -Inside it was still cool, in the slightly green half-light, under the -low black roof of the old beams. - -Dinner was on the table, and Yves' wife, who had got up for the first -time, was awaiting us, seated in her place, in her brave holiday dress. -In the course of the last few days, her beauty had deserted her, and she -was pale and thin. Yves looked at her with an air of disillusionment -which did not escape her; and, realizing that this was not as it should -be, he went over to her and kissed her affectionately with rather a -lordly air. And I augured sad things from this glimpse of -disenchantment. - -Nevertheless this baptismal dinner was a gay affair. It consisted of a -great number of Breton dishes and lasted a very long time. - -During the dessert, we heard outside two voices murmuring a kind of -litany very rapidly, in the language of lower Brittany. It was two old -women, two old beggar-women, linked arm in arm and leaning on sticks, in -the manner of the fairies when they take decrepit shape for the purpose -of disguise. - -They asked to be allowed to enter, having come to wish good luck to -little Pierre. At the oaken cradle in which he was being gently rocked -they predicted very fortunate things, and then withdrew with a blessing -for everyone. - -Generous alms were given them, and Anne cut them slices of bread and -butter. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVIII - - -In the afternoon there was a scene: my poor brother Yves was tipsy and -wanted to go to Bannalec and take train to rejoin his ship. - -We had wandered some considerable distance and were in a wood, Anne, -Yves, and I, when suddenly, without apparent cause, the idea seized him. -He had turned back and left us, saying that he was going away for good; -and we had followed him in some anxiety fearful of what he might do. - -When, a few minutes after him, we reached the cottage of the old -Keremenens, we found that he had thrown off his fine white shirt and his -wedding clothes, and, stripped to the waist, in the usual style of -sailors on board ship during the morning, he was looking everywhere for -his jersey which had been hidden from him. - -"Good Lord Jesus, have pity on us," Marie, his wife, was saying, joining -her poor white invalid's hands. "How has this happened, Lord? For really -he has drunk but little! Oh, sir, prevent him," she begged, turning to -me. "What will people say in Toulven when he passes, when they see that -my husband will not stay with me!" - -It was a fact that Yves had drunk very little; happiness, no doubt, had -turned his head at dinner, and, what made the matter worse, we had taken -him for a walk in the heat of the sun: it was not altogether his fault. - -Sometimes, though rarely, it was possible to arrest these moods of his -by dint of kindness. I knew that, but I did not feel able to-day to use -this means. For really, it was too bad of him! Even here, in this place -of peace and on this happy day of festival, to introduce a scene of this -kind! - -I said simply: - -"Yves shall not leave!" - -And to bar his way, I stood before the door, buttressing myself against -the old oak mullions which were massive and solid. - -He did not dare to answer me. He moved this way and that, continuing to -look for his sailor's clothes, turning about like a wild beast which is -held captive. He muttered under his breath that nothing would prevent -him from going, as soon as he should have found his sailor's bonnet. But -all the same the idea that he would have to touch me before he could get -out served also to restrain him. - -I, too, was in no very amiable mood, and I felt nothing now of the -affection which had lasted so many years and forgiven so many things. I -saw before me the drunken sea-rover, ungrateful and in revolt, and that -was all. - -Deep down in every man there is always a hidden savage who keeps -vigil--especially perhaps amongst us who have lived on the sea. And it -was the savage in each of us who now confronted one another, who had -just come into collision one with the other, as in our worst days in the -past. - -Outside, all round us, was still the peace of the countryside, the shade -of the oaks, the tranquil _green night._ - -Poor old Keremenen was quite helpless, and the affair came very near to -being utterly odious and pitiful, when we heard Marie weeping; they were -the first tears of her wifehood, urgent, bitter tears, the forerunners, -no doubt, of many others; and sobs which were distressing to hear amid -the silence which we all preserved. - -And presently Yves was vanquished and drew near slowly to embrace her: - -"Come, come! I am wrong," he said, "and I ask you to forgive me." - -And then he came to me and used a name which he had sometimes written, -but which until then he had never pronounced: - -"You must forgive me again, _brother!_" - -And he embraced me also. - -Afterwards he begged forgiveness of the old Keremenens, who kissed him -in a fatherly and motherly way; and forgiveness also of his son, the -little sea-gull, as he pressed his lips against the little closed fists -which peeped out of the cradle. - -He was quite sobered and the evil hour had passed; the real Yves, my -brother, had returned; there was as always in his repentance something -simple and childlike which won forgiveness without reserve, so that all -was forgotten. - -He proceeded now to pick his clothes up from the floor, to brush them, -and to dress himself again, without saying a word, miserable, exhausted, -wiping his forehead which was beaded with a cold perspiration. - -An hour later I watched Yves as he stooped, the very figure of an -athlete, over the cradle of his son; he had been rocking him and had -just succeeded in putting him to sleep; and now, little by little, -progressively, with many precautions, he was stopping the movement of -the little oak basket, to leave it at last motionless, seeing that sleep -had indeed come. Then he stooped lower still and gazed intently at his -son, examining him with much curiosity, as if he had never seen him -before, touching his little closed fists, his growth of little mouse's -hair which peeped still from beneath the little white bonnet. - -And as he gazed his face assumed an expression of infinite tenderness; -and the hope came to me that this little child might one day be his -safeguard and salvation. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIX - - -In the evening after supper, we went for a walk, Anne, Yves and I, a -walk much more peaceful than that of the day. - -And, at nine o'clock, we sat down by the side of a wide road which -traversed the woods. - -It was not yet dark, so prolonged in Brittany are the evenings in the -beautiful month of June; but we began, nevertheless, to talk of phantoms -and the dead. - -Anne said: - -"In winter when the wolves come we can hear them from our home; but -sometimes ghosts, too, utter cries like theirs." - -On this particular evening, however, we only heard the passing of -cockchafers and stagbeetles which flew through the warm air in eccentric -curves, and the small buzzings of summer. And, also, from a distant part -of the wood: "Hoot! . . . Hoot . . ." a mournful call, given out very -softly in the voice of an owl. - -And Yves said: - -"Do you hear, brother? The parakeets of France are singing." (This was -an allusion to the _parakeet_ he had on the _Sibylle._) - -The slender grasses, with their flowers of grey dust, spread over the -ground a deep, scarcely palpable covering into which the feet sank, and -the last moths, at the end of their evening's exercise, plunged one -after another into the thickness of this herbage, to take their sleeping -posts on the slender stems. - -And darkness came, slow and tranquil, with an air of mystery. - -Passed a young Breton lad who carried a knapsack on his shoulder. He was -returning rather tipsy from Lannildu, a peacock's feather in his hat. (I -do not know what this has to do with the story of Yves: I relate at -hazard things which have remained in my memory.) He stopped and began to -address us. Finally, by way of peroration, he showed us his knapsack, -saying: - -"Look here! I have two cats in this." (This had no sort of relation to -what he had been saying to us before.) - -He placed his burden on the ground and threw his hat upon it. Thereupon -the knapsack began to _swear_, with the strong voices of angry tom-cats, -and to move in somersaults along the road. - -When he had convinced us in this way that they were indeed cats, he put -the whole on his shoulder again, saluted, and went his way. - - - - -CHAPTER L - - -17_th June_, 1878. - - -We rose early to go into the woods and gather "luzes" (little blue-black -fruits which are found in the deepest of the thickets, on plants which -resemble the mistletoe). - -Anne no longer wore her gay festival attire: she had put on a large -smooth collarette and a simpler head-dress. Her Breton dress of blue -cloth was ornamented with yellow embroidery: on each side of her bodice -were designs imitating rows of eyes such as butterflies have on their -wings. - -Along the sunken lanes, in the green night, we met women who were going -into Toulven to hear the early morning mass. From the end of these long -corridors of verdure, we saw them coming with their collarettes, their -tall white head-dresses, the sides of which fell symmetrically over -their ears, like the bonnets of the Egyptians. Their waists were tightly -compressed in bodices of blue cloth which resembled the corselets of -insects and on which were embroidered always the same designs, the same -rows of butterfly eyes. As they passed they gave us good-day in Breton -and their tranquil faces wore an expression of primitive times. - -And at the doors of old grey granite cottages which were almost hidden -in the trees, we found old women sitting and minding little children; -old women with long unkempt white hair, in tattered blue cloth cut in -the fashion of long ago, with the remains of Breton embroideries and -rows of eyes: the poverty and primitiveness of olden times. - -Ferns, ferns, all along these lanes--ferns of the most elaborate kind, -the finest, the rarest, which have flourished there in the damp shade, -forming sheaves and carpets--and pink foxgloves, too, shooting up like -pink rockets, and, pinker even than the foxgloves, the silenes of -Brittany, scattering over all this fresh verdure their little -carmine-coloured stars. - -To us, maybe, the verdure seems greener, the woods more silent, the -perfumes more penetrating, to us who live in wooden houses in the midst -of the sound of the sea. - -"It seems to me very pleasant here," said Yves. "A little later on when -little Pierre is big enough for me to lead him by the hand, we will go -together to pick all kinds of things in the woods--and, later again, we -can shoot. To be sure! I will buy a gun, as soon as I have saved a -little money, to kill the wolves. I don't think I shall ever be bored in -this country here." - -I knew well, alas! that sooner or later he would weary of it; but it -served no purpose to tell him so and it was better to let him, as one -lets children, cherish his illusion. - -Besides, he also was about to depart; two days after me, he was due at -Brest, to embark once more. This was only a very brief rest in our life, -this sojourn at Toulven, only a little interlude of Brittany, after -which we must resume once more our business of the sea. - -We were in the heart of the woods. No pathways now, no cottages. Nothing -but a succession of hills following one another into the distance, -covered with beeches, with brushwood, with oaks and heather. And -flowers, a profusion of flowers; the whole countryside was flowered like -an Eden: honeysuckle, tall asphodels with white distaffs and foxgloves -with pink distaffs. - -In the distance, the song of cuckoos in the trees, and, around us, the -humming of bees. - -The berries grew thick here and there, on the stony soil, mingled with -flowering heather. Anne always found the best and gave them to me in -handfuls. And big Yves watched us with a grave smile, conscious that he -was playing, for the first time, a kind of rôle of mentor, and finding -it very surprising. - -The place had a wild air. These wooded hills, these carpets of lichen, -resembled a landscape of olden times, though bearing the mark of no -precise epoch. But Anne's costume was clearly of the Middle Ages and the -impression that one had was of that period. - -Not the gloomy and twilight Middle Ages as understood by Gustave Doré, -but the Middle Ages sunlit and full of flowers, of these same eternal -flowers of the fields of Gaul, which bloomed as now for our ancestors. - -It was eleven o'clock when we returned to the cottage of the old -Keremenens for dinner. It was very warm that summer in Brittany; the -ferns and the little red flowers of the roadside bowed down under the -unaccustomed sun, which exhausted them, tempered though it was by the -green branches. - -_One o'clock._ For me, the hour of departure. I went first of all to -kiss little Pierre, asleep still in his old oaken cradle, as if these -four days had not sufficed him for recovering from the fatigue he had -suffered in coming into the world. - -I bade good-bye to all. Yves, thoughtful, leaning against the door, was -waiting to accompany me as far as Toulven, whence the diligence would -take me to the station at Bannalec. Anne and old Corentin also insisted -on escorting me. - -And, when I saw Toulven disappearing in the distance, its grey steeple -and its mournful pond, my heart contracted. How many years would it be -before I should return to Brittany? Once more we were separating, my -brother and I, and both of us were going away into the unknown. I was -uneasy about his future, over which I saw dark clouds gathering. . . . -And I thought also of these Keremenens whose welcome had touched me. I -asked myself whether my poor Yves, with his terrible failings and his -uncontrollable character, was not going to bring unhappiness upon them, -under their roof of thatch covered with little red flowers. - - - - -CHAPTER LI - - -_November_, 1880. - - -A little more than two years later. - -Little Pierre was cold. He cried as he clasped his two little hands, -which he tried to hide under his pinafore. He was in a street in Brest, -before daybreak, on a November morning. A fine rain was falling. He -pressed close to his mother who, also, was weeping. - -There, at a street corner, Marie Kermadec was waiting, loitering in the -darkness like some unfortunate. Would Yves come home? . . . Where was -he? . . . Where had he spent the night? In what low tavern? Would he -return to his ship at any rate, when the gun sounded, in time for the -roll-call. - -And other women were waiting also. - -One passed with her husband, a petty officer like Yves; he came out of a -tavern which had just been opened. He was drunk. He tried to walk, -staggered a few steps and then fell heavily to the ground. His head made -a sickening sound as it struck the hard granite. - -"Oh! my God!" wailed his wife. "Jesus, Holy Virgin Mary, have pity on -us! Never have I seen him like this before! . . ." - -Marie Kermadec helped her to get him on his feet again. He was a good -looking man, kindly and serious. - -"Thank you, madam!" - -And his wife contrived to make him walk, supporting him with all her -strength. - -Little Pierre was crying quietly, as if he understood already that -something shameful overshadowed them and that it behoved him not to make -a noise. He bowed his little head and continued to hide under his -pinafore his little hands which were so cold. He was well enough wrapped -up, but he had been standing for a long time, without moving, at this -damp street corner. The gas lamps had just been extinguished and it was -very dark. Poor little plant, healthy and fresh, born in the woods of -Toulven, how came it, to be stranded in the misery of this town? For his -part he saw no sense in the change; he could not understand why his -mother had wanted to follow her husband to this Brest, and to live in a -cold and dismal lodging, at the end of a court, in one of the low-lying -streets abutting on the harbour. - -Another passed; he was struggling with his wife, this one, he was not -going to be taken home. It was a horrible sight. Marie uttered a cry as -she heard the dull sound of a blow struck by a fist; and covered her -face, unable to bear more. Yves at any rate had never done that! But -would it come to that in time? Would it come to pass, one of these days, -that they would sink to this last misery? - - - - -CHAPTER LII - - -Yves appeared at last, walking straight, carrying himself well, his head -high, but his eye lustreless, bewildered. He saw his wife, but pretended -that he did not, throwing on her as he passed an angry, troubled glance. - -_It was not he_--as he used to say himself afterwards, in the good -moments of repentance which still came to him. - -In fact, it was not he: it was the savage beast within him which -drunkenness awakened, when his real self was obscured and submerged. - -Marie refrained from saying a word, not only from uttering a reproach, -but even from an entreaty. It was better not to speak to Yves in these -moments when his head was gone: he would go away again. She knew that; -she was forced into this silence. - -She followed, with downbent head, in the rain, dragging by the hand her -little Pierre who was trying to cry even more quietly now since he had -seen his father, and whose poor little feet were getting wet in the mud -of the gutter. - -How could she let him walk thus? How could she even have brought him out -like this, before daybreak? What was she thinking of? Had she gone mad? -. . . And she picked him up and hugged him to her breast, warming him -against her body, kissing him in passionate affection. - -Yves pretended to pass his door, by way of aggravation--a piteous piece -of brutish foolery--and then looked back at his wife with a stupid smile -which was not good to see, as one who should say: "That was a little -joke of mine, but you see I am going in." - -She followed at a distance, hugging the wall of the dark staircase so as -not to be seen, making herself small, lowly. Happily it was not yet -daylight, and the neighbours no doubt would still be abed, and so would -not be witnesses of this disgrace. - -She followed him into their room and shut the door. - -There was no fire and the room had an air of poverty which smote the -heart. - -When the candle was lit, Marie saw that Yves had again torn his new -clothes, which once already she had mended with so much care; and his -big blue collar was crumpled and stained and his jersey unravelled, the -broken stitches gaping on his chest. - -He walked up and down, turning about like a caged beast, making -confusion, upsetting brusquely things which she had arranged, pieces of -bread which she had saved up. - -And she, having put their child in his cradle and covered him up, -pretended to occupy herself with domestic duties. At times such as these -it was necessary to appear as if nothing had happened; otherwise, if one -seemed to be taking too much thought of him, he would become suddenly -exasperated, like a wild beast which has scented blood; and he would -want to go out again. And when once he had said: "I am going out! I am -going out to join my friends!" out he would go with the obstinacy of a -brute; not force, nor prayers, nor tears were able to restrain him. - - - - -CHAPTER LIII - - -Sometimes Yves would fall suddenly like a log and sleep for several -hours; and then it would be over. This depended on the particular kind -of liquor he had taken. - -At other times he held out, somehow or other, and returned to his ship -in the harbour. - -On this particular morning, at seven o'clock, Yves, a little sobered, -had the idea unprompted of bathing his head in cold water. Then he went -out and took the road to the dockyard. - - - - -CHAPTER LIV - - -Then Marie sat down, broken, utterly powerless, beside the cradle in -which their little son was sleeping. - -Through the curtainless windows a whitish light began to enter, a pale, -pale light which made one feel cold. - -Another day! In the street below could be heard the characteristic sound -of the lower quarters of Brest at the hour of the return to work: -thousands of wooden sabots hammering on the hard granite pavé. The -workers were returning to the dockyard, stopping on their way for one -last drink, in the taverns but just now opened which mingled with the -growing daylight the yellow light of their little lamps. - -Marie remained there, motionless, perceiving with a painful acuteness -all these already familiar sounds of the winter mornings which ascended -from the street, voices husky with alcohol and the rumblings of sabots. -It was in one of those old many-storeyed houses, tall, immense, with -dark yards, rough granite walls as thick as ramparts, sheltering all -sorts of people, workmen, pensioners, sailors; at least thirty families -of drunkards. It was now four months since--on Yves' return from the -Antilles--she had left Toulven to come and live there. - -A growing light entered through the windows, fell on the dirty, -dilapidated walls, penetrated little by little the whole of the large -room in which their modest little household furniture, now in disorder, -seemed lost. Clearly the day had come; and, out of thriftiness, she went -and blew out the candle, and then returned to sit by the window. - -What was she going to do with this new day; should she work? No, she had -not the heart, and, then, what was the use? - -Another day to be passed without a fire, with a heart that was dead, -watching the rain falling, watching and waiting! Waiting, waiting in an -anxiety that grew from hour to hour, waiting for the coming of the -darkness, for the moment when the hammering of the sabots would begin -once more in the grey street below, when the workers' day was done. For -Yves and the other sailors whose ships were in the port were released at -the same time as the workers in the dockyard; and then, every evening, -leaning out of her window, she would watch the flood of humanity pass, -searching, with anxious eyes, among all these groups, looking for him -who had taken from her her life. - -She could recognize him from afar, by his tall figure and his bearing; -his blue collar towered over the others. When she had discovered him, -walking quickly, hastening towards their lodging, it seemed to her that -her poor heart overflowed, that she breathed better; and when she saw -him at last beneath her, entering the old low doorway, she was almost -happy. He had come--and when he was there and had embraced them both, -her and little Pierre, the danger was past, he would not go out again. - -But if he was late, gradually she felt herself wrung with anguish. . . . -And when the hour was passed, and night came and the crowd had dispersed -and he had not returned, oh! then began those sinister evenings she knew -so well, those mortal evenings of waiting which she spent, the door -open, seated in a chair, her hands joined, saying her prayers, her ear -straining at all the sailors' songs which came from outside, trembling -at every sound of footsteps which she heard on the dark staircase. - -And then, very late, when others, her neighbours, were in bed and could -no longer see her, she descended; in the cold, in the rain, she went out -like one possessed to wait at street corners, listen at the doors of -pot-houses where men were drinking still, press her pallid cheek against -the window-panes of taverns. - - - - -CHAPTER LV - - -Little Pierre was still asleep in his cradle, making up for the sleep he -had lost in the early morning. And this morning his mother also dozed -near him in her chair, exhausted as she was by fatigue and watching. - -It was broad daylight when she awoke, her limbs numb with cold. And with -returning consciousness came once more the weight of her anxiety. - -Why had she left Toulven? Why did she marry? Daughter of the country as -she was what was she doing in this Brest where people stared at her -peasant's dress? Why had she come to wear in the streets of the town her -large white collarette, often soaked with rain, which in despair, in -utter weariness, she allowed now to hang crumpled and limp on her -shoulders. - -She had done everything she could to reform Yves. He was still so kind, -so good, he was so fond of his little Pierre in his sober hours, that -often she was encouraged still to hope! He had moods of repentance that -were quite sincere and lasted for several days; and those days were days -of happiness. - -"You must forgive me," he used to say, "for you can see that I was not -myself!" - -And she forgave him. Then he would stay at home, and when by chance the -weather was reasonably fine, they dressed little Pierre in his new -clothes, and went for a walk, the three of them, in Brest. - -And then, one fine evening Yves would not return, and all was to be -begun again, and she fell back into despair. - -Things went from bad to worse; the stay at Brest exerted over him the -same influence as it usually does over all sailors. Every week now -almost, the dread thing happened; it was becoming a habit. What room was -there for hope? - -There was no money left in their drawer. What was to be done? Borrow -from these women, her neighbours, who from time to time used to drink -also, and whom she disdained to know! Of that she was ashamed! -Nevertheless she was at her wits' end to know how to hide her distress -from her parents, who knew nothing, and had taken Yves to their heart as -if he had been their own son. - -Very well then, she would tell them, tell them he was unworthy of them. -She was in revolt at last. She would leave him; he had gone too far, and -he had no heart. - - - - -CHAPTER LVI - - -And yet, yes!--something told her that he had a heart, but that he was -just a big boy whom the life of the sea had spoilt. And with a great -tenderness she recalled his handsome, gentle face, his voice, his smile -in those hours when he was sober. . . . - -Abandon him? . . . At the idea that he should go his ways alone, utterly -lost then, and throwing care to the devil, delivered up to his vices and -to the vices of others, to begin again his life of debauchery with other -women, to sail distant seas, and then to grow old alone, forsaken, -exhausted by alcohol! . . . Oh! at this idea of leaving him, she was -seized with an anguish more terrible than all: she felt that she was -bound to him now by a bond stronger than any reason, than any human -will. She loved him passionately, without realizing the strength of her -love. . . . No, rather than that, if she was not able to draw him back, -she would let herself sink with him to the last degradation in order -that she might still hold him in her arms, until the hour of death. - - - - -CHAPTER LVII - - -Little Pierre, for his part, did not like Brest at all. He found it a -most uncomfortable place, ugly and dark. - -He had lived there only for four months, and already his round cheeks -had paled a little under their bronze. Before, they were like those ripe -nectarines of the south country which are of a warm golden colour, a red -stained with sun. - -His eyes were black and shone with the sparkle of jet, like those of his -mother, from between beautiful long eyelashes. In his little eyebrows -there was already a suggestion of seriousness, which came from Yves. - -He would have made a pretty picture, with his thoughtful expression and -the manly and forceful little air which he had already like a grown lad. - -Now and then he had still his moments of noisy gaiety; he jumped and -skipped about the gloomy room, making a great commotion. - -But this did not happen so often as at Toulven. He missed, in his -already vague baby memory, he missed the little playmates of the -beech-bordered lane, and the petting of his grandparents, and the songs -of his old great-grandmother. There, everybody took notice of him, while -here he was nearly always alone. - -No, he did not like the town. And then he was always cold, in this bare -room and on these old stone staircases. - - - - -CHAPTER LVIII - - -"You must forgive me; you can see that I am not myself." - -When once Yves had said that, the storm was finally over; but it was -often a long time before he said it. When the fit of drunkenness had -passed, for two or three days, he would remain gloomy, depressed, -without speaking; until suddenly, at some quite negligible thing, his -smile would appear once more with an expression of childlike -embarrassment. Then the clouds would break for poor Marie and she would -smile too, a smile of her own, without ever uttering a word of reproach; -and that was the end of the ordeal. - -Once she dared very softly to ask him: - -"But what is the need for sulking for three days, when it is over." - -And he, more softly still, with a naïve half-smile, looking at her -sideways, in obvious embarrassment: "What is the need for sulking for -three days, do you say? Why, Marie, do you think I am pleased with -myself when I have these bouts. . . . Oh! but it's not against you, my -poor Marie, I assure you." Then she came very close to him and leaned -against his shoulder, and he, answering her silent appeal, kissed her. - -"Oh! drink! drink!" he said slowly, averting his half-closed eyes with a -savage expression. "My father! my brothers! Now it's my turn!" - -He had never said anything like this before. He had never alluded to the -terrible vice which possessed him, nor given any sign that he realized -its consequences. - -How was it possible not to have still brief moments of hope seeing him -afterwards so sensible, so dutiful, playing at the fireside with his -son; dropping then all his domineering ways, alert with a thousand -kindly thoughts for his wife, in his effort to make her forget her -suffering? - -And how believe that this same Yves would presently and fatally become -once more that _other_, the Yves of the bad days, the Yves of the vacant -gaze, the Yves depressed and brutal, the beast bewildered by alcohol, -whom nothing could move? Then Marie surrounded him with tenderness, -concentrated on him all the force of her will, watched over him as over -a child, trembling as she followed him with her eyes whenever he so much -as descended into the street where his blue-collared comrades passed and -where the taverns opened their doors. - -On shore Yves was lost; he knew it well himself, and used to say sadly -that he would have to try to get to sea again. - -He had grown up on the sea, at random, as wild plants grow. It had been -nobody's business to give him notions of duty or conduct, nor of -anything in the world. I alone perhaps, whom fate and his mother's -prayer had put in his way, had been able to speak to him of these new -things, but too late no doubt, and too vaguely. The discipline of the -ship, that was the great and only curb which had directed his material -life, maintaining it in that rude and healthy austerity which makes -sailors strong. - -The _shore_ had for long been for him but a place of passage, where for -a time he was free from restraint and where there were women; he -descended on it as on a conquered country, between long voyages; and he -came well supplied with money and found, in the quarters of pleasure, -everything compliant to his whim and will. - -But to live a regular life in a little household, to reckon up each -day's expenses, to behave himself and have thought for the morrow, his -sailor's ways could no longer adapt themselves to these unexpected -obligations. Besides, around him, in this corrupt, degenerate Brest, -alcohol seemed to ooze from the walls with the unwholesome damp. And he -sank to the depths like so many others, who also once had been good and -brave; he became debased, slipping down little by little to the level of -this population of drunkards; and his excesses became repulsive and -vulgar like those of a workman. - - - - -CHAPTER LIX - - -One day, I received a letter which called me to his assistance. - -It was very simple, very much like a letter from a child: - - -"MY DEAR BROTHER,--I do not know how to tell you, but it is true, I have -taken to drink again. Also I do not want to remain in Brest, as you will -understand, for I am afraid of this thing. - -"I have already been punished three times with irons in the Reserve, and -now I do not know how to get away from the ship, for I realize that if I -remain on board some misfortune will happen to me. - -"But it seems to me that if I could embark once more with you, that -would be exactly what I need. My dear brother, since you will soon be -going away again, if you would come to Brest and take me with you, it -would be much better for me than here, and I feel sure that that would -save me. - -"You have done me a great wrong in saying in your letter that I did not -love my wife or my son; because for her and little Pierre there is -nothing I would not do. - -"Yes, my dear brother, I have wept and I am weeping now as I write, and -I cannot see for the tears that are in my eyes. - -"I only hope that you will be able to come. I embrace you with all my -heart, and beg you not to forget your brother, in spite of all the -disappointments he has caused you. - -"Ever yours, - -"YVES KERMADEC." - - - - -CHAPTER LX - - -One Sunday in December I returned to Brest unannounced and made my way -into the low-lying quarters of the Grand 'Rue, looking for Yves' house. -Reading the numbers on the doors, I passed all those high granite -buildings which once were houses of the rich and now are fallen into the -hands of the people; below, everywhere open taverns; above, the -curtained windows of poverty, with last sickly flowers on the sills; -dead chrysanthemums in pots. - -It was morning. Bands of sailors were about already, looking very smart -in their clean clothes, singing, beginning already the Sunday holiday. - -One breathed a white mist, a damp coldness--a first sensation of winter. -Newly-arrived as I was from the Adriatic, where the sun was still -shining, the colours of Brest seemed to me greyer than ever. - -At number 154--above the sign: _À la pensée du beau canonnier_--I -climbed three flights of stairs in an old wide staircase, and came upon -the room of the Kermadecs. - -I could hear through the door the regular sound of a cradle. Little -Pierre, very spoilt in spite of all, had retained this habit of being -rocked to sleep, and Yves, alone with his son, was sitting near him, -rocking the cradle with one hand, very slowly. - -He raised pathetic eyes, moved at seeing me, but hesitating to come to -me, his expression saying: - -"Ah, yes, brother, I know. You have come to take me away; it is true -that this is what I asked of you; but . . . but I did not expect you -perhaps so soon; and to go away . . . that will be very hard to -bear. . . ." - -Physically, Yves had greatly changed. He had become paler, sheltered as -he had been from the tanning of the sea; his expression was different, -less assured, almost mournful. It was plain that he had suffered; but on -his face, marmorean still and colourless, vice had not succeeded yet in -imprinting any trace. - -I looked around with an impression of surprise, and a contraction of the -heart. I had not, in fact, foreseen what the dwelling of my brother -Yves, on shore and in a town, would be like. It was very different from -that sea dwelling in which I had so long known him: the masthead, full -of wind and sun. Here, now, amid this reality of poverty I felt as he no -doubt felt himself, out of place and ill at ease. - -Marie was outside, at the pump, and little Pierre was sound asleep, his -long baby's eyelashes resting on his cheeks. We were alone together and -as he was uncomfortable in my presence, he began hurriedly to talk of -embarking, of departure. - -A change in the list had called me to Brest prepared for immediate -departure: two or three ships were about to be put into commission--for -the China station, for the Southern Seas, for the Levant--and it was -necessary to hold myself in readiness, from hour to hour, for one of -these destinations. - -The week which followed was one of those agitated periods which are -common enough in a sailor's life: living at the hotel as in a flying -camp, amid the disorder of half-unpacked trunks, not knowing to-morrow's -destination; busy with a number of things, official business at the port -and preparations for the voyage;--and then these comings and goings, -applications on Yves' behalf, in order to secure his withdrawal from the -Reserve, and to keep him near me, ready to depart with me. - -The December days, very short, very gloomy, sped quickly. I climbed -often, three steps at a time, the sordid old staircase of the Kermadecs; -and Marie, anxious always about the first words I might say, smiled at -me sadly, with a respectful and resigned confidence, awaiting the -decision I should bring. - - - - -CHAPTER LXI - - -IN THE ROADSTEAD OF BREST, -23_rd December_, 1880. - - -A night in December, clear and cold; a great calm over the sea, a great -silence on board. - -In a little ship's cabin, which is painted white and has iron walls, -Yves is sitting near me amid open trunks and cases. We are still in the -disarray of arrival; we have yet to instal ourselves, to make a little -home, in this iron box which presently is going to carry us through the -waves and storms of winter. - -All the embarcations we had foreseen, all the long voyages we had -projected, had come to nothing. And I find myself simply on board this -_Sèvre_ which is not going to leave the Brittany coast. Yves is among -the crew and we shall be together again, in all human probability, for a -year. Given our calling it is a stroke of good luck; it might have -happened to us at any moment to be separated for ever. And Yves has very -gladly given a hundred francs out of his purse to the sailor who -consented to give up his place to him. - -Let us make the best of this _Sèvre_, since fate will have it so. It -will remind us at any rate of the times already distant when we sailed -together over the misty northern sea under the protecting eye of the -Creizker tower. - -But I should have liked it better if we had been sent elsewhere, to -somewhere in the sun; for Yves' sake especially, I should have preferred -to be going farther from Brest, farther from his evil companions and the -taverns of the coast. - - - - -CHAPTER LXII - - -AT SEA 25_th December, Christmas Day._ - - -It was the second day following, very early, at daybreak. I came up on -deck, having scarcely slept a moment, after a very trying watch from -midnight to four o'clock: we had been buffeted throughout the night by a -gale of wind and a heavy sea. - -Yves was there, wet through, but in his element and very much at ease; -and, as soon as he saw me appear, he pointed out to me, smiling, a -singular country which we were approaching. - -Grey cliffs walled the distant horizon like a long rampart. A kind of -calm fell upon the waters, although the wind continued to buffet us -furiously. In the sky, dark heavy clouds slid one over the other, very -rapidly: a leaden vault in movement; immense, dark things, which changed -shape, which seemed in haste to pass, to reach a goal elsewhere, as if -seized with the vertigo of some impending and formidable convulsion. -Around us, thousands of reefs, dark heads which rose up everywhere amid -this other silvered commotion made by the waves; they seemed like -immense herds of sea monsters. They stretched as far as eye could see, -these dangerous dark heads, the sea was covered with them. And then, -beyond, on the distant cliff, the silhouettes of three very old towers, -looking as if they had been planted alone there in the midst of a desert -of granite, one of them greatly overtopping the two others, and rearing -its tall figure like a giant who watches and presides. . . . - -Yes! I recognize it well, and, like Yves, salute it with a smile; -somewhat puzzled, nevertheless, to see it reappear so close to us, and -in the midst of this festival of shadows, on a morning when I was not -expecting it. . . . What were we going to do there, in its -neighbourhood? This was no part of our original plan and I could not -understand it. - -It was a sudden decision of the captain, taken during my hour of sleep: -to make for the entrance to the roadstead of Taureau, hard by Saint Pol, -and seek a shelter there from the south wind, the open sea being now too -rough for us. - -And that was how it came about that, on his return to the northern -waters, Yves' first visit was to the Creizker tower. - - - - -CHAPTER LXIII - - -CHERBOURG, 27_th December_, 1880. - - -At seven o'clock in the morning word is brought to me that Yves, -dead-drunk, is in a boat alongside. Some old friends of his, topmen on -the _Vénus_, have kept him drinking through the night in low -taverns--to celebrate their return from the Antilles. - -I am of the watch. There is no one yet on deck, save some sailors busy -with their furbishing--but devoted fellows these, known for many a day -and to be counted on. Four men get him aboard, and furtively carry him -down a hatch and hide him in my room. - -A bad beginning, truly, on board this _Sèvre_, where I had taken him -under my charge as on a kind of probation, and where he had promised to -be exemplary. And the black thought came to me for the first time that -he was lost, beyond redemption, no matter what I might do to save him -from himself. And also this other thought, more desolating still, that -perhaps he was deficient in certain qualities of heart. - -Throughout the day Yves was like a dead man. - -He had lost his bonnet, his purse, his silver whistle, and there was a -dent in his head. - -It was not until about six o'clock in the evening that he showed sign of -life. Then, like a child awakening, he smiled--a sign this that he was -still drunk, for otherwise he would not smile--and asked for food. - -Then I said to Jean-Marie, my faithful servant, a fisherman from -Audierne: - -"Go to the ward-room kitchen and see if you can get him some soup." - -Jean-Marie brought the soup, and Yves began to turn his spoon this way -and that, as if he did not remember which way to hold it: - -"Come on, Jean-Marie, make him eat it!" - -"It is too salty!" said Yves suddenly, lying back, making a wry face, -his accent very Breton, his eyes again half-closed. - -"Too salty! Too salty!" . . . - -Then he fell asleep again, and Jean-Marie and I burst out laughing. - -I was in no frame of mind for laughter, but this notion and this spoilt -child's air were too comical. . . . - -Later, at ten o'clock, Yves came round, got up furtively, and -disappeared. - -For two days he remained hidden in the crews' quarters in the bow of the -ship, only showing himself for his watch and for drill, hanging his -head, not daring to look at me. - -Oh! these resolutions taken twenty times and as many times broken. . . . -We dare not take them again or at any rate dare not say that we have -taken them. The will flags, and the days slip by while we wait inert for -the return of courage and self-respect. - -Slowly, however, we came back to our normal manner of existence. I used -to call him in the evenings and we would walk up and down the deck -together for hours on end, talking almost in the old way, in the -mournful wind and the fine rain. He had still the same fashion of -thinking and speaking as before, very naïve and at the same time very -profound; it was the same, but with just the least suggestion of -constraint; there was something frigid between us which would not thaw. -I waited for a word of repentance which did not come. - -Winter was advancing, the winter of the Channel, which envelopes -everything--thoughts, and men, and things--in the same grey twilight. -The cold dark days had come, and our evening walk was taken at a quicker -pace in the damp wind of the sea. - -There were times when I wanted to grip his hand and say to him: "Come, -brother, I have forgiven you; let us forget all about it." But I checked -the words on my lips; after all it was for him to ask forgiveness; and -there remained a kind of haughty coldness in my manner which kept him at -a distance from me. - -This _Sèvre_ was not a success for us at all, that was clear. - - - - -CHAPTER LXIV - - -Little Pierre is at Plouherzel, trying to play in front of his -grandmother's door--quite lost as he looks at the motionless sheet of -water before him, with the large beastlike shape which seems to be -asleep in the centre, behind a veil of mist. There is free air and open -sky here, to be sure, but the wind is keener than at Toulven, and the -country more desolate; and children feel these things by instinct; in -the presence of things forlorn, they have involuntary melancholies and -silences--as birds have. - -Here now are two little comrades who have come from a neighbouring -cottage to take stock of him, the little new-comer. But they are not -those of Toulven; they do not know the same games; the few little words -which they are able to speak are not of the same Breton. And, therefore, -not venturing much on one side or the other, they remain all three at -gaze, with shy smiles and comical little airs. - -It was yesterday that little Pierre arrived at Plouherzel with Marie -Kermadec. Yves had written to his wife bidding her make this journey as -soon as she could; the thought had come to him suddenly, the hope -indeed, that this might reconcile them with his mother. For the old -woman, always hard and headstrong, after having in the first instance -flatly refused her consent to their marriage, had accepted it -subsequently with bad grace, and, since, had not even troubled to answer -their letters. - -Poor forsaken old woman! Of thirteen children whom God had given her, -three had died in infancy. Of the eight sons who had reached manhood, -all of them sailors, the sea had taken seven--seven who had been lost in -shipwreck, or else had disappeared abroad, like Gildas and Goulven. - -Her daughters, too, had left her. One of them had married an Icelander, -who had taken her away to Tréquier; the other, her head turned by -religion, had entered the convent of the Sisters of Saint Gildas du -Secours. - -There remained only the little grandchild, the forsaken little daughter -of Goulven. And all the old woman's love was centred in her--an -illegitimate child, it is true, but the last survivor of that long -shipwreck which had bereft her, one after another, of the others. This -little child loved to watch the incoming tide from the shore of the sea -water lake. She had been forbidden to do it, but one day she went -thither alone and did not return. The next tide brought in a stiff -little corpse, a little body of white wax, which was laid to rest near -the chapel, under a wooden cross and a mound of green turf. - -She still cherished a hope in her son Yves, the last, the best beloved, -because he had remained the longest at home. . . . Perhaps he, at least, -would return one day to live near her! - -But it was not to be. This Marie Keremenen had stolen him from her; and, -at the same time--a thing which counted in her rancour--she had taken -from her also the money which this son had previously sent to help her -to live. - -And for two years now, she had been alone, quite alone, and would be -alone to her last day. - -In obedience to Yves, Marie had come yesterday, after two days' -journeying, and knocked at this door with her child. An old, -hard-featured woman, whom she recognized at once without ever having -seen her, had opened to her. - -"I am Marie, Yves' wife. . . . How do you do, mother?" - -"Yves' wife! Yves' wife! So this then is little Pierre? This is my -little grandson?" - -Her eye had softened as she looked at the little grandson. She had made -them enter, given them to eat, seen that they were warm and comfortable, -and prepared for them her best bed. But for all that there was a -coldness, an ice which nothing could thaw. - -In the corner, surreptitiously, the grandmother embraced her grandchild -with affection. But before Marie she gave no sign and remained always -stiff and hard. - -Now and then they spoke of Yves, and Marie said timidly that, since -their marriage, he had reformed greatly. - -"Tra la la! . . . Reformed!" repeated the old woman, assuming her -ill-tempered air. "Tra la la! my child! . . . Reformed! . . . He has his -father's head, they are all the same, they are all alike, and you have -not seen the last of it in him; mark my words!" - -Then poor Marie, her heart heavy, not knowing what to reply, nor what -else to say during the long day, nor what to do with herself, waited -impatiently for the time fixed by Yves for their departure. Very surely -she would not return. - - - - -CHAPTER LXV - - -At Paimpol Marie, with her son, has climbed into the diligence which -moves off and is bearing them away. Through the door she watches her -mother-in-law who has had the grace to accompany them from Plouherzel to -see them off, but who has said good-bye briefly and coldly, a good-bye -to chill the heart. - -She watches her and is puzzled; for the old woman is running now, -running after the diligence--and her face, too, is working; she seems to -be making some kind of grimace. What can she want of them? And as she -watches Marie becomes almost afraid. For she is grimacing still. And -see! now she is crying! Her poor features are quite contorted, and her -tears fall fast. . . . And now she understands! - -"For the love of heaven! stop the diligence, sir, if you please," says -Marie to an Icelander, who is sitting near her and who, too, has -understood; for he passes his arm through the little window in front and -pulls the conductor by the sleeve. - -The diligence stops. The grandmother, who has continued to run, is at -the back, almost on the step; she stretches out her hands to them, and -her face is bathed in tears. - -Marie gets down and the old woman throws her arms round her, embraces -her, embraces little Pierre. - -"My dear child! may God in His goodness be with you." - -And she weeps and sobs. - -"My child, with Yves, you know, you must be very gentle, you must take -him by the heart; you will see that you can be happy with him. Perhaps -I was too hard with his poor father. God bless you, my dear daughter!" - -And there they stand, united in the same love for Yves, and weeping -together. - -"Now then, my good women!" cries the conductor, "when will you have -finished rubbing noses?" - -They had to drag them apart. And Marie, seated once more in her corner, -watches as she draws away, with eyes filled with tears, the old woman, -who has sunk down, sobbing, on a milestone, while little Pierre waves -good-bye with his plump little hand from the window. - - - - -CHAPTER LXVI - - -1_st January_, 1881. - - -In the heart of the docks at Brest, a little before dawn, on the first -morning of the year 1881. A mournful place, these docks; the _Sèvre_ -has been moored there now for a week. - -Above, the sky has begun to brighten between the high granite walls -which enclose us. The lamps, few and far between, shed in the mist their -last meagre yellow light. And already one may discern the silhouettes of -formidable things which are taking shape, awakening ideas of a grim and -cruel rigidity; machines high perched, enormous anchors upturning their -black arms; all sorts of vague and ugly shapes; and, in addition, -laid-up ships, with their outline of gigantic fishes, motionless on -their chains, like large dead monsters. - -A great silence prevails and a deadly cold. There is no solitude -comparable with that of a naval dockyard at night, especially on a night -of holiday. As the time approaches for the gun to sound the signal to -cease work, everybody flees as from a place of pestilence; thousands of -men issue from every point, swarming like ants, hastening towards the -gates. The last of them run, actuated by a fear lest they should arrive -too late and find the iron gates closed. Then calm descends. Then night. -And there is no longer a soul, no longer a sound. - -From time to time a patrol passes on his round, challenged by the -sentries, giving in a low voice the password. And then the silent -population of rats debouches from all the holes, takes possession of the -deserted ships, the empty yards. - -On duty on board since the previous day I had got to sleep very late, in -my icy, iron-walled room. I was worried about Yves, and the songs, the -shoutings of sailors which came to me in the night from the distance, -from the low quarters of the town, filled me with foreboding. - -Marie and little Pierre were to make their journey to Plouherzel in -Goello, and Yves had wanted, nevertheless, to spend the night on shore -in Brest, to celebrate the New Year with some old friends. I could have -stopped him by asking him to stay and keep me company; but the coldness -between us persisted; and I had let him go. And this night of the 31st -December is of all nights perhaps the most dangerous, a night when Brest -gives itself up wholly to a riot of alcohol. - -As I climbed on deck, I saluted rather sadly this first morning of the -New Year, and I began the mechanical promenade, the hundred paces of the -watch, thinking of many past things. - -And especially I thought of Yves, who was my present preoccupation. -During the last fortnight, on this _Sèvre_, it seemed to me that the -affection of this simple brother who had long been the only real friend -I had in the world, was slowly, hour by hour, drifting from me. And -then, also, I was angry with him for not behaving himself better, and it -seemed to me, that, for my part, too, I loved him less. . . . - -A black bird passed above my head, uttering a mournful croaking. - -"Good luck to you!" said a sailor who was making his morning ablution in -cold water. "Here's some one come to wish us a happy New Year! . . . You -ugly croaker! Anyhow, you are a sign that better things are to follow." - -Yves returned at seven o'clock, walking very straight, and answered the -roll-call. Afterwards he came to me, as usual, to wish me good morning. - -I quickly saw, from his eyes slightly dulled and his voice slightly -altered, that he had not been as abstemious as he should. And I said to -him in the tone of a curt order: - -"Yves, you will not return to shore to-day." - -And then I affected to speak to others, conscious that I had been unduly -severe and none too pleased with myself. - -_Midday._ The dockyard, the ships are emptying, becoming deserted as on -days of holiday. Everywhere the sailors may be seen on their way out for -the day, all very smart in their clean Sunday clothes, brushing off with -eager hand the least trace of dust, adjusting for one another their -large blue collars. Walking briskly they soon reach the gates and press -forward into Brest. - -When it comes to the turn of those on the _Sèvre_ Yves appears with the -others, well brushed, well washed, and very bare about the neck, in his -best clothes. - -"Yves, where are you going?" - -He gave me an angry glance such as I had not had from him before. It -seemed to defy me and I read in it still the fever and bewilderment of -alcohol. - -"I am going to join my friends," he said. "Sailors from my country, whom -I have arranged to meet, and who are expecting me." - -Then I attempted to reason with him, taking him aside, obliged to say -what I had to say very quickly, for time pressed, obliged to speak low -and to maintain an appearance of complete calm, for it was necessary -that the others who were standing quite near us should not know what was -passing. And I began to feel that I had taken a wrong road, that I was -no longer myself, that my patience was exhausted. I spoke in the tone -which irritates and does not persuade. - -"I am going, I am going, I tell you," he said at the end, trembling, his -teeth clenched. "Unless you put me in irons to-day, you will not stop -me." - -He turned away, defying me to my face for the first time in his life, -and moved to rejoin the others. - -"In irons? Very well then, Yves; in irons you shall be." - -And I called a sergeant-at-arms, and gave him out loud the order to lead -him away. - -Oh! the glance he gave me as he turned away, obliged to follow the -sergeant-at-arms who prepared to take him below, before all his fellows, -to descend into the hold in his brave Sunday clothes! He was sobered, -assuredly; for his gaze was penetrating and his eyes were clear. It was -I who hung my head under this expression of reproach, of sorrowful and -supreme amazement, of sudden disillusion and disdain. - -And then I went back to my room. - -Was it all over between us? I thought it was. This time I had lost him -indeed. - -I knew that Yves, with his obstinate Breton character, would not return; -his heart, once closed, would never open again. - -I had abused my authority over him, and he was of those, who, before -force, rebel and will not yield. - -I had begged the officer on duty to let me continue in charge for this -day, not having the courage to leave the ship--and I continued my -endless walk up and down the deck. - -The dockyard was deserted within its high walls. There was no one on -deck. The sound of distant singing came from the low-lying streets of -Brest. And, from the crew's quarters below, the voices of the sailors of -the watch calling at regular intervals the _Loto_ numbers with the -little jokes usual among sailors, which are very old and always gain a -laugh. - -"--22, the two quartermasters out for a walk!" - -"--33, the legs of the ship's cook!" - -And my poor Yves was below them, at the bottom of the hold, in the dark, -stretched on the floor in the cold, with his foot in an iron ring. - -What should I do? . . . Order him to be set free and sent to me? I -foresaw perfectly well how this interview might turn out: He standing -before me, impassive, sullen, his bonnet, respectfully doffed, braving -me by his silence, his eyes downcast. - -And, if he refused to come--and he was quite capable of this in his -present mood--what then? . . . How could I save him from the -consequences of such a refusal of obedience? How could I then extricate -him from the mess I should have made between our own private affairs and -the blind rules of discipline? - -Now, night was falling and Yves had been nearly five hours in irons. I -thought of little Pierre and of Marie, of the good folk of Toulven, who -had put their hope in me, and then of an oath I had sworn to an old -mother in Plouherzel. - -And above all, I realized that I still loved my poor Yves as a brother. -. . . I went back to my room and began hurriedly to write to him; for -this must be the only means of communication between us; with our -characters, explanations would never be successful. I wrote quickly, in -large letters, so that he could still read them: darkness was coming on -quickly, and, in the dockyard, a light is a thing forbidden. - -Then I said to the sergeant-at-arms: - -"Bring Kermadec to speak to _the Officer of the Watch_, here in my -room." - -I had written: - - -"DEAR BROTHER,--I forgive you and I ask that you too will forgive me. -You know well that we are now brothers, and that, in spite of -everything, we must stick together through thick and thin. Are you -willing that all that we have done and said on the _Sèvre_ should be -forgotten, and are you willing to make one more firm resolution to be -sober? I ask this of you in the name of your mother. If you will write -'Yes' at the bottom of this paper, all will be over and we will not -speak of it again. - - -"PIERRE." - - -When Yves came in, without looking at him, and without waiting for a -reply, I said to him simply: - -"Read this which I have just written for you." And I went out, leaving -him alone. - -He came out quickly, as if he had been afraid of my return, and, as soon -as I heard that he was some distance away, I re-entered my room to see -what he had answered. - -At the bottom of my letter--in letters still larger than mine, for it -was growing darker--he had written: "Yes, brother," and signed: "YVES." - - - - -CHAPTER LXVII - - -"Jean-Marie, go as quickly as you can and tell Yves that I am waiting -for him on shore, on the quay." - -This was ten minutes later. It was clearly necessary that we should -meet--after having written one another thus--in order to make the -reconciliation complete. - -When Yves arrived, his face had changed and he was smiling as I had not -seen him smile for many a long day. I took his hand, his poor topman's -hand, in mine; it was necessary to squeeze it very hard to make it feel -the pressure, for work had greatly hardened it. - -"But why did you do that? It wasn't kind, you know." - -And this was all he found to say to me by way of reproach. - -The guard at night on the _Sèvre_ was not very strict. - -"Look here, Yves, we are going to spend this first night of the New Year -on shore, in Brest, and you are going to have dinner with me, as my -guest. That is a thing we have never done and it will be fun. Quickly, -go and brush your clothes (for he had got very dirty in irons in the -hold), and let us go." - -"Oh! but we must be quick, though. Let me rather brush myself when we -get on shore. The gun will sound directly, and we shall not have time to -get out." - -We were in a remote part of the docks, very far from the gates, and we -started off at once almost running. - -But, as luck would have it, when we were but half-way, the gun sounded -and we were too late. - -There was nothing for it but to return to the _Sèvre_, where it was -cold and dark. - -In the wardroom there was a pitiful lantern in a wire cage, which had -been lit by the fireman patrol, but no fire. And it was there we passed -the first night of the new year, dinnerless through our own fault, but -content nevertheless that we had found each other again and had made -friends. - -Nevertheless something still worried Yves. - -"I did not think of it before: but perhaps it would have been better if -you had left me in irons until the morning, on account of the others, -you know, who won't be able to make out what has happened. . . ." - -But about his future conduct, he had no misgiving at all; to-night he -felt very sure of himself. - -"In the first place," he said, "I have found a sure method; I will never -go ashore again except with you, and you will take me where you will. In -that way, you see. . . ." - - - - -CHAPTER LXVIII - - -_Sunday_, 31_st March_, 1881. - - -Toulven, in spring; the lanes full of primroses. A first warm breeze -stirs the air, a surprise and a delight; it stirs the branches of the -oaks and beeches, and the great leafless woods; it brings us, in this -grey Brittany, the scent of distant places, memories of sunlit lands. A -pale summer is at hand, with long, mild evenings. - -We are all outside at the cottage door, the two old Keremenens, Yves, -his wife, and Anne, little Corentine, and little Pierre. Religious -chants, which we had first heard in the distance, are slowly drawing -near. It is the procession coming with rhythmic step, the first -procession of spring. It is now in the green lane. It is going to pass -in front of us. - -"Lift me, godfather, lift me!" says little Pierre, holding out his hands -for me to take him in my arms, so that he may see better. - -But Yves forestalls me and raising him very high, places him standing on -his shoulders; and little Pierre smiles to find himself so tall and -thrusts his hands into the mossy branches of the old trees. - -The banner of the Virgin passes, borne by two young men, thoughtful and -grave of mien. All the men of Trémeulé and of Toulven follow it, -bareheaded, young and old, hat in hand, with long hair, brown or -whitened by age, which falls on Breton jackets ornamented with old -embroideries. - -And the women come after: black corselets embroidered with eyes, a -little restrained hubbub of voices pronouncing Celtic words, a movement -of large white things of muslin on the heads. The old nurse follows -last, bent and hobbling, always with her witch-like movements; she gives -us a sign of recognition and threatens little Pierre, in fun, with the -end of her stick. - -It passes on and the noise with it. - -Now, from behind and from a distance, we see the long procession as it -ascends between the narrow walls of moss, a long lane of white -wide-winged head-dresses and white collarettes. - -It moves on, in zigzags, ascending always towards Saint Eloi of Toulven. -It is a strange sight, this long procession. - -"Oh! what a lot of coifs!" says Anne, who is the first to finish her -rosary, and who begins to laugh, struck with the effect of all these -white heads enlarged by the muslin wings. - -And now it has disappeared--lost in the distances of the vault of beech -trees--and one sees only the tender green of the lane and the tufts of -primroses scattered everywhere: eager growths which have not waited for -the sun, and which cluster on the moss in large compact masses, of a -pale sulphur yellow, a milky amber colour. The Bretons called them "milk -flowers." - -I take little Pierre's hand and lead him with me into the woods, in -order to leave Yves alone with his relations. They have very serious -matters, it seems, to discuss together: those interminable questions of -profits and distribution which, in the country, take so large a place in -life. - -This time it has to do with a dream Yves and his wife have dreamt -together: to realize all their possessions and build a little house, -covered with slate, in Toulven. I am to have my room there in this -little house, and in it are to be put the old-fashioned Breton things I -love, and flowers and ferns. They do not want to live any more in the -large towns, not in Brest particularly--_it is not good for Yves._ - -"It is true," he says, "that I shall not often be at home; but when I -am, we shall all be very happy there. And then, you know, later on when -I take my pension . . . it is for then really; I shall settle down very -nicely in my house and my little garden." - -His pension! That is ever the sailor's dream. It begins in early youth, -as if the present life were only a time of trial. To take his pension, -at about forty; after having traversed the world from pole to pole, to -possess a little plot of earth of his own, to live there very soberly -and to leave it no more; to become someone of standing in his village, -in his parish church--a churchwarden after having been a sea-rover; the -devil turned monk and a very peaceful one. . . . How many of them are -mown down before they reach it, this more peaceful hour of ripe age? And -yet, if you ask them, they are all thinking of it. - -This _sure method_ which Yves had discovered for keeping sober had -succeeded very well; on board he was the exemplary sailor he had always -been, and, on shore, we were never apart. - -Since that miserable day which began the year 1881, the relations -between us had completely changed, and I treated him now in every -respect as a brother. - -On board this _Sèvre_, a very small boat, we officers lived in a very -cordial intimacy. Yves was now of our band. At the theatre, in our box; -sharing our enterprises which for the most part were insignificant -enough. Rather shy at first, refusing, slipping away, he had ended by -accepting the position, because he felt that he was loved by us all. And -I hoped by this new and perhaps unusual means to attach him to me as -much as possible, and to raise him out of his past life and win him from -his former friends. - -That thing which it is usual to call education, that kind of polish -which is applied thickly enough, it is true, on so many others, was -entirely wanting in my brother Yves; but he had naturally a kind of -tact, a delicacy much rarer, which cannot be assumed. When he was in our -company, he kept himself always so well in his place, that in the end he -himself began to feel at ease. He spoke very little, and never to say -those banal things which everybody says. And when he put off his -sailor's clothes and dressed himself in a well-fitting grey suit with -grey suede gloves to match, then, though preserving still his careless -sea-rover's carriage, his high-held head and his bronzed skin, he had -all at once quite a distinguished air. - -It used to amuse us to take him with us and present him to smart people -upon whom his silence and bearing imposed and who found him rather -haughty. And it was comical, next day, to see him once more a sailor, as -good a topman as before. - -Little Pierre and I, then, were in the woods of Toulven, looking for -flowers during the family council. - -We found a great many, pale yellow primroses, violet periwinkles, blue -borage, and even red silenes, the first of the spring. - -Little Pierre gathered as many as he could, in a state of great -excitement, not knowing which way to run, panting hard, as if in the -throes of a very important work; he brought them to me very eagerly in -little handfuls, very badly picked, half-crushed in his little fingers, -and too short in the stalk. - -From the height we had reached we could see woods as far as eye could -command; the blackthorns were already in flower; all the branches, all -the reddish sprigs, full of buds, were waiting for the spring. And, in -the distance, in the midst of this country of trees, Toulven church -raised its grey spire. - -We had been out so long that Corentine had been placed on the look out -in the green lane to announce our return. We saw her from a distance, -jumping, dancing, playing all sorts of tricks alone, her big head-dress -and her collarette fluttering in the wind. And she shouted loud: - -"They are coming, big Peter and little Peter, hand in hand." - -And she turned it into a rhyme and sang it to a lively Breton air as she -danced in time: - - -"See here they come together -And they hold each other's hand, -Peter big and Peter little -Are coming hand in hand." - - -Her big head-dress and her collarette aflutter in the breeze, she danced -like some little doll which had become possessed. And night was falling, -a night of March, always mournful, under the leafless roof of the old -trees. A sudden chill passed like a shudder of death over the woods, -after the sunny warmth of the day: - - -"And they hold each other's hand, -Peter big and Peter little! -And little black man Peter!" - - -"Little black man" was the nickname Yves had borne, and she gave it now -to her little cousin Pierre, on account of the bronzed colouring of the -Kermadecs. Thereupon I called her "Little Miss Golden Locks," and the -name stuck to her; it suited her well, on account of the curls which -were for ever escaping from her head-dress, curls like skeins of golden -silk. - -Everybody in the cottage seemed very pleased, and Yves took me aside and -told me that matters had been arranged very satisfactorily. Old Corentin -was giving them two thousand francs and an aunt was lending them another -thousand. With that they would be able to buy a piece of land for a term -of years and begin to build immediately. - -We had to leave immediately after dinner in order to catch the diligence -at Toulven and the train at Bannalec. For Yves and I were returning to -Lorient, where our ship was waiting for us in the harbour. - -At about eleven o'clock, when we had got back to the chance lodging we -had booked in the town, Yves, before going to bed, began to arrange in -vases the flowers we had gathered in the woods of Toulven. - -It was the first time in his life that he had ever done anything of the -kind; he was surprised at himself that he should find pleasure in these -poor little flowers to which he had never before given a thought. - -"Well, well!" he said. "When I have my own little house at Toulven, I -shall have flowers in it, for it seems to me that they look very well. -But it is you, you know, who have given me the idea of these -things. . . ." - - - - -CHAPTER LXIX - - -At sea, on the following day, the first of April. Bound for Saint -Nazaire. A full spread of canvas; a strong breeze from the north-west: -the weather bad; the lighthouses no longer visible. We came into dock in -the small hours, with a damaged bow and a broken foretopmast. - -The 2nd is pay day. Drunken men stumble in the hold in the dark and -there are broken heads. - -A little liberty of two days, quite unexpected. On the road with Yves -for Trémeulé in Toulven. This _Sèvre_ is a good boat which never -takes us away for long. - -At ten o'clock at night, in the moonlight, we knock at the door of the -old Keremenens and of Marie, who were not expecting us. - -They wake up little Pierre in our honour, and sit him on our knees. -Surprised in his first sleep he smiles and says how do you do to us very -low, but afterwards does not make much ado about our visit. His eyes -close in spite of himself and he cannot hold up his head. And Yves, -disturbed at this, seeing him hanging his head, and looking at us in -sidelong fashion, his hair in his eyes: - -"You know, it seems to me that he has . . . that he has . . . a sly -look." - -And he looks at me anxious to know what I think of it, conceiving -already a grave misgiving about the future. - -Nobody in the world but my dear old Yves would have felt concern on such -ludicrous grounds. I shake little Pierre, who thereupon becomes wide -awake and bursts out laughing, his fine big eyes well opened between -their long lashes. Yves is reassured and finds that in fact he does not -look at all sly. - -When his mother strips him, he looks like a classic baby, like the Greek -statues of Cupid. - - - - -CHAPTER LXX - - -Toulven, 30_th April._ - - -The cottage of the old Keremenens, as darkness is falling on an evening -of April. Our little party has just returned from a walk: Yves, Marie, -Anne, little Corentine "golden locks," and "little black man" Pierre. - -_Four_ candles are burning in the cottage (_three_ would be unlucky). - -On an old table of massive oak, polished by the years, there are paper, -pens and sand. Benches have been placed round. Very solemn things are -about to happen. - -We put down our harvest of herbs and flowers, which shed a perfume of -April in the old cottage, and take our places. - -Presently two dear old women enter with an important air: they say good -evening with a curtsey, which makes their large starched collarettes -stand upright, and sit down in a corner. Then Pierre Kerbras, who is -engaged to Anne. At last everybody is placed and we are all complete. - -It is the great evening for the settlement of the family arrangements, -when the old Keremenens are going to fulfil the promise they have made -to their children. The two of them rise and open an old chest on which -the carvings represent Sacred Hearts alternating with cocks; they remove -papers, clothing, and from the bottom, take a little sack which seems -heavy. Then they go to their bed, lift up the mattress and search -beneath: a second sack! - -They empty the sacks on the table, in front of their son Yves, and then -appear all those shining pieces of gold and silver, stamped with ancient -effigies, which, for the last half century, have been amassed one by one -and put in hiding. They are counted out in little piles; the two -thousand francs promised are there. - -Now comes the turn of the old aunt who rises and empties a third little -sack; another thousand francs in gold. - -The old neighbour comes last; she brings five hundred in a stocking -foot. And all this is lent to Yves, all this is heaped before him. He -signs two little receipts on white paper and hands them to the two old -lenders who make their curtsey preparatory to leaving, but who are -detained, as custom ordains, and made to drink a glass of cider with us. - -It is over. All this has been done without a notary, without a deed, -without discussion, with a confidence and a simple honesty that are -things of Toulven. - -"Rat-tat-tat!" at the door. It is the contractor for the building, and -he arrives in the nick of time. - -But with this gentleman it is desirable to use stamped paper. He is an -old rogue from Quimper, with only a smattering of French, but he seems -cunning enough for all that, with his town manners. - -It is given to me to explain to him a plan which we had thought out -during our evenings on board, and in which a room is provided for me. I -discuss the construction in the smallest details and the price of all -the materials, with an air of knowledge which imposes on the old man, -but which makes Yves and me laugh, when by ill-luck our eyes chance to -meet. - -On a sheet bearing a twelve sou stamp I write two pages of clauses and -details: - -"A house built of granite, cemented with sand from the seashore, -limewashed, joinered in chestnut wood, with skylit attic, shutters -painted green, etc., etc., the whole to be finished before the 1st May -of next year and at the price fixed in advance of two thousand nine -hundred and fifty francs." - -This work and this concentration of mind have made me quite tired; I am -surprised at myself, and I can see that they all are amazed at my -foresight and my economy. It is unbelievable what these good people have -made me do. - -At last it is signed and sealed. We drink cider and shake hands all -round. And Yves now is a landowner in Toulven. They look so happy, Yves -and his wife, that I regret no part of the trouble I have taken for -them. - -The two old ladies make their final curtsey, and all the others, even -little Pierre, who has been allowed to stay up, come with me, in the -fine moonlit night, as far as the inn. - - -Toulven, 1_st May_, 1881. - - -We are very busy, Yves and I, assisted by old Corentin Keremenen, -measuring with string the land to be acquired. - -First of all we had to select it, and that took us all yesterday -morning. For Yves it was a very serious matter this fixing of the site -of his little house, in which he pictured, in the background of a -melancholy and strange distance, his retirement, his old age and death. - -After many goings and comings we had decided on this spot. It is in the -outskirts of Toulven, on the road which leads to Rosporden, on high -ground, facing a little village square which is brightened this morning -by a population of noisy fowls and red-cheeked children. On one side is -Toulven and its church, on the other the great woods. - -At the moment it is just an oatfield very green. We have measured it -carefully in all directions; reckoned by the square yard it will cost -fourteen hundred and ninety francs, without counting the lawyer's fees. - -How steady Yves will have to be, and how he will have to save to pay all -that! He becomes very serious when he thinks of it. - - - - -CHAPTER LXXI - - -ON BOARD THE _Sèvre, May_, 1881. - - -Yves, who will soon be thirty years old, begs me to bring him from the -town a bound manuscript book in order that he may commence to record his -impressions, after my manner. He regrets even that he can no longer -recall very clearly dates and past events so that he might make his -record retrospective. - -His intelligence is opening to a crowd of new conceptions; he models -himself on me and perhaps makes himself more "complex" than he need. But -our intimacy brings in its train another and quite unexpected result, -namely that I am becoming much simpler in contact with him; I also am -changing, and almost as much as he. - - -BREST, _June_, 1881. - - -At six o'clock, on the evening of the feast of St. John, I was returning -with Yves from the "pardon" of Plougastel on the outside of a country -omnibus. - -In May the _Sèvre_ had been as far as Algiers, and we appreciated, by -contrast, the special charm of the Breton country. - -The horses were going at full gallop, beribboned, with streamers and -green branches on their heads. - -The folk inside were singing, and, on top, next to us, three drunken -sailors were dancing, their bonnets on one side, flowers in their -button-holes, with streamers and trumpets, and, in mockery of those -unfortunate enough to be short-sighted, blue spectacles--three young -men, smart of bearing and intelligent in face, who were taking a last -French leave before their departure for China. - -Any ordinary man would have broken his neck. But they, drunk as they -were, kept their feet, nimble as goats, while the omnibus careered at -full speed, swinging from right to left in the ruts, driven by a driver -who was as drunk as they. - -At Plougastel we had found the uproar of a village fête, wooden horses, -a female dwarf, a female giant, a fat lady, and a boneless man, and -games and drinking stalls. And, in an isolated square, the Breton -bagpipes played a rapid and monotonous air of olden times, and people in -old-fashioned costume danced to this age-old music; men and women, -holding hands, ran, ran like the wind, like a lot of mad folk, in a long -frenzied file. It was a relic of old Brittany, retaining still its note -of primitiveness, even at the gates of Brest, amid the uproar of a fair. - -At first we tried, Yves and I, to calm the three sailors and make them -sit down. - -And then it struck us as rather comical that we, of all people, should -assume the rôle of preacher. - -"After all," I said to Yves, "it's not the first sermon of the kind -we've preached." - -"To be sure, no," he replied with conviction. - -And we contented ourselves with holding on to the iron rails to prevent -ourselves from falling. - -The roads and the villages are full of people returning from the -"pardon," and all these people are amazed at seeing pass this -carriage-load of madmen with the three sailors dancing on the top. - -The splendour of June throws over this Brittany its charm and its life; -the breeze is mild and warm beneath the grey sky; the tall grass, full -of red flowers; the trees, of an emerald green, filled with cockchafers. - -And the three sailors continue to dance and sing, and at each couplet, -the others, inside, take up the refrain: - - -"Oh! He set out with the wind behind him, -He'll find it harder coming back." - - -The windows of our carriage rattle with it. This air, which never -changes and is repeated over and over again for some six miles of our -journey, is a very ancient air of France, so old and so young, of so -frank a gaiety and so good a quality, that in a very few minutes we too -are singing it with the rest. - -How beautiful Brittany looks, beautiful and rejuvenated and green, in -the June sunshine! - -We poor followers of the sea, when we find spring in our path, rejoice -in it more than other people, on account of the sequestered life we lead -in the wooden monasteries. It was eight years since Yves had seen a -Breton spring, and we both had long grown weary of the winter, and of -that eternal summer which in other parts reigns resplendent over the -great blue sea; and these green fields, these soft perfumes, all this -charm of June which words cannot describe held us entranced. - -Life still holds hours that are worth the living, hours of youth and -forgetfulness. Away with all melancholy dreams, all the morbid fancies -of long-faced poets! It is good to sail, in the face of the wind, in the -company of the most lighthearted among the children of the earth. Health -and youth comprise all there is of truth in the world, with simple and -boisterous merriment and the songs of sailors! - -And we continued to travel very quickly and very erratically, zigzagging -over the road among these crowds of people, between very tall hawthorns -forming green hedges, and under the tufted vault of the trees. - -And presently Brest appeared, with its great solemn air, its great -granite ramparts, its great grey walls, on which also grass and pink -foxgloves were growing. It was as it were intoxicated, this mournful -town, at having by chance a real summer's day, an evening clear and -warm; it was full of noise and movement and people, of white -head-dresses and sailors singing. - - - - -CHAPTER LXXII - - -5_th July_, 1881. - - -_At Sea._--We are returning from the Channel. The _Sèvre_ is proceeding -very slowly in a thick fog, blowing every now and then its whistle which -sounds like a cry of distress in this damp shroud which envelops us. The -grey solitudes of the sea are all about us and we feel them without -seeing them. It seems as if we were dragging with us long veils of -darkness; we long to break through them; we are oppressed as it were to -feel that we have been so long enclosed within them, and the impression -grows that this curtain is immense, infinite, that it stretches for -league on league without end, in the same dull greyness, in the same -watery atmosphere. And then there is the endless roll of the waters, -slow, smooth, regular, patient, exasperating. It is as if great polished -and shining backs heaved and pushed us with their shoulders, raising us -up and letting us fall. - -Suddenly in the evening the fog lifts and there appears before us a dark -thing, surprising, unexpected, like a tall phantom emerging from the -sea: - -"Ar Men Du (the Black Rocks)!" says our old Breton pilot. - -And, at the same time, the veil is rent all round us. Ushant appears: -all its dark rocks, all its reefs are outlined in dark grey, beaten by -high-flung showers of white foam, under a sky which seems as heavy as a -globe of lead. - -Immediately we straighten our course, and taking advantage of the -clearing, the _Sèvre_ stands in for Brest, whistling no longer, but -hastening and with every hope of reaching port. But the curtain slowly -closes again and falls. We can see no longer, darkness comes, and we -have to stand out for the open sea. - -And for three long days we continue thus, unable to see anything. Our -eyes are weary with watching. - -This is my last voyage on the _Sèvre_, which I am due to leave as soon -as we reach Brest. Yves, with his Breton superstition, sees something -unnatural in this fog, which persists in midsummer as if to delay my -departure. - -It seems to him a warning and a bad omen. - - - - -CHAPTER LXXIII - - -BREST, 9_th July_, 1881. - - -We reach port at last, however, and this is my last day of duty on -board. I disembark to-morrow. - -We are in the heart of the Brest docks, where the _Sèvre_ comes from -time to time to rest between two high walls. High gloomy-looking -buildings overlook us; around us courses of native rock support the -ramparts, a roundway, a whole heavy pile of granite, oozing sadness and -humidity. I know all these things by heart. - -And as we are now in July there are foxgloves, and tufts of silenes -clinging here and there to the grey stones. These red plants growing on -the walls strike a note of summer in this sunless Brest. - -I have a kind of pleasure, nevertheless, in going away. This Brittany -always causes me, in spite of everything, a melancholy sense of -oppression; I feel it now, and when I think of the novelty and the -unknown which await me, it seems to me that I am about to awaken with -the passing of a kind of night. . . . Whither shall I be sent? Who -knows? In what particular corner of the earth shall I have to -acclimatize myself to-morrow? No doubt in some country of the sun where -I shall become another person altogether, with different senses, and -where I shall forget, alas! the beloved things I am now about to leave -behind me. - -But my poor Yves and my little Pierre, I shall not part from either of -them without a pang. - -Poor Yves, who has so often himself had to be treated like a spoilt and -capricious child, it is he now, at the hour of my departure, who -surrounds me with a thousand kind attentions, almost childlike, at a -loss to know what he can do to show sufficiently his affection. And this -attitude in him has the greater charm, because it is not in his ordinary -nature. - -The time we have just passed together, in a daily fraternal intimacy, -has not been without its storms. He still deserved in some degree, -unfortunately, the epithets "undisciplined, uncontrollable," inscribed -long ago in his sailor's pay-book; but he had improved very much, and, -if I had been able to keep him near me, I should have saved him. - -After dinner we came up on deck for our usual evening promenade. - -I say for a last time: - -"Yves, make me a cigarette." - -And we begin our regular little walk up and down the wooden deck of the -_Sèvre._ We know by heart all the little hollows where the water -collects, all the angle blocks in which one's feet may be caught, all -the rings over which one may stumble. - -The sky is overcast for our last walk together, the moon hidden, and the -air damp. In the distance, from the direction of Recouvrance, come as -usual the eternal songs of the sailors. - -We speak of many things. I give Yves much advice, and he, very -submissive, makes many promises; and it is very late when he leaves me -to seek his hammock. - -At noon on the following day, my trunks scarcely packed and many visits -unpaid, I am at the station with Yves and my friends of the wardroom who -have come to see me off. I shake hands with them all, I think even that -I embrace them, and then I depart. - -A little before dark I reach Toulven, where I propose to stop for a -couple of hours to make my adieux. - -How green it is and decked with flowers, this Toulven, this fresh and -shady region, the most delightful in Brittany! - -There I find them waiting for me to cut little Pierre's hair. The idea -that anyone would entrust me with such a task had never occurred to me. -They told me "that I was the only one who could keep him quiet." The -previous week, they had brought in the barber from Toulven, and little -Pierre had made such a fuss that the first thing the scissors did was to -cut his little ears; and it had been necessary to abandon the project. I -made the attempt, however, in order to please them, hard put to it not -to laugh. - -Then when I had done, the notion came to me to keep one of the little -brown curls which I had cut off, and I took it away with me, surprised -that I should set so much store by it. - - - - -CHAPTER LXXIV - - -_A Letter from Yves_ - - -"On board the _Sèvre_, Lisbon, -"1_st August_, 1881. - -"DEAR BROTHER,--I am sending you this short letter in reply on the same -day that I have received yours. I write in haste and am taking advantage -of the luncheon hour. I am on the stand of the main mast. - -"We put into Lisbon yesterday evening. Dear brother, we have had very -bad weather this time; we have lost our head sails, the mizzen and the -whaler. I may tell you also, that, in the heavy rolling of the ship, my -kit-bag and my locker have disappeared, and all my possessions with -them; I have suffered a loss of nearly a hundred francs in this way. - -"You asked me what I did on the Sunday, a fortnight ago. My good -brother, I remained quietly on board and finished reading 'Capitaine -Fracasse.' And, since your departure, I have only been ashore once, on -Sunday last; and I was very sober, for in the first place, I had sent -home the whole of my month's money; I had drawn sixty-nine francs and -sent sixty-five of them to my wife. - -"I have had news from Toulven and it is all good. Little Pierre is very -sharp and he can now run about very well. Only he is very naughty when -he gets _his little sea-gull mood on him_, like me, you know; from what -his mother says, he upsets everything he can get hold of. The walls of -our house are already more than six feet above ground; I shall be very -happy when it is quite finished, and especially when I see you installed -in your little room. - -"Dear brother, you bid me think of you often; I assure you that never an -hour passes in which I do not think of you, and often many times in the -hour. Besides, now, you understand, I have no longer anyone to talk to -in the evening--and sometimes I have no cigarettes. - -"I cannot tell you when we are leaving here, but please write to me at -Oran. I hear we shall be paid at Oran, so that we may be able to go -ashore and buy tobacco. - -"I end, my dear brother, in embracing you with all my heart. - -"Your affectionate brother who loves you. Ever yours, - -"YVES KERMADEC. - - -"P.S.--If I have enough money at Oran, I will lay in a large supply of -tobacco, and, especially for you, of that sort which is like the Turkish -tobacco, which you are fond of smoking. - -"The Captain has given me for you a table-napkin, the last you used on -board. I have washed it, and, in doing so, I have torn it a little. - -"As regards the manuscript book you gave me for writing my notes, that -too was spoilt by the storm and I have laid it aside. - -"Dear brother, I embrace you again with all my heart, - -"YVES KERMADEC. - - -"P.S.--On board, things are just the same and the Captain has not -changed his habit of insisting on the tidiness of the deck. There was a -great dispute between him and the lieutenant, once more about the -_cacatois_, you know. But they were good friends again, afterwards. - -"I have also to tell you that in seven or eight months, I think we shall -have another little child. A thing, however, which does not altogether -please me, for I think it is a little too soon. - -"Your brother, - -"YVES." - - - - -CHAPTER LXXV - - -I was in the Near East when these little letters of Yves reached me; -they brought me, in their simplicity, the already far-off perfume of the -Breton country. - -My memories of Brittany were fading fast. Even now I seemed to see them -as through a mist of dreamland; the reefs I had known so well, the -lights on the coast, Cape Finistère with its great dark rocks; and the -dangerous approaches to Ushant on winter evenings, and the west wind -blowing under a mournful sky, in the fall of December nights. From where -I was now, it all seemed a vision of a sunless country. - -And the poor little cottage at Toulven! How small it seemed, lost at the -side of a Breton lane! But it was the region of deep beech woods, of -grey rocks, of lichens and mosses; of old granite chapels and -high-growing grass speckled with red flowers. Here, sand and white -minarets under a vault surpassingly blue, and sunshine, eternal, -enchanting sunshine! - - - - -CHAPTER LXXVI - - -_Another Letter from Yves_ - - -"BREST, 10_th September_, 1881. - -"MY DEAR BROTHER,--I have to tell you that our _Sèvre_ is being -disarmed; we handed her over yesterday to the authorities at the docks; -and, I can assure you, I am not very grieved about it. - -"I reckon on remaining for some time on shore, in the neighbourhood; -also (since our little house is not very far advanced, as you will -understand) my wife has come to live with me in Brest until it is -finished. I think you will agree, dear brother, that we have done the -right thing. This time we have taken rooms almost in the country, at -Recouvrance, on the way to Pontaniou. - -"Dear brother, I have to tell you that little Pierre was taken ill with -colic as a result of eating too many berries in the woods, on that last -Sunday when we were at Toulven; but he got over it. He is becoming a -dear little chap, and I spend hours playing with him. In the evening all -three of us go for a walk together; we never go out now unless we go -together, and when one returns the other two return also! - -"Dear brother, if only you were back in Brest, I should have everything -I want; and you would see me now as I am, and you would be very pleased -with me; for never have I been so peaceful. - -"I should like to go away with you again, my dear brother, and to find -myself on a ship bound for the Levant where I might find you. This is -not to say that I do not want to continue the life I am now living, for -I assure you I do. But that is not possible, because I am too happy. - -"I end in embracing you with all my heart. Little Pierre sends his love; -my wife and all my relations at Toulven ask to be remembered to you. -They look forward to seeing you and I can promise you so do I. - -"Your brother, - -"YVES KERMADEC." - - - - -CHAPTER LXXVII - - -TOULVEN, _October_, 1881. - - -Pale Brittany once more in autumn sunshine! Once more the old Breton -lanes, the beech trees and the heather! I thought I had said good-bye to -this country for many a long day, and coming back to it I am filled with -a strange melancholy. My return has been sudden, unexpected, as the -returns and the departures of sailors so often are. - -A fine October day, a warm sun, a thin white mist spread like a veil -over the countryside. All about is that immense peace which is peculiar -to the fine days of autumn; in the air a savour of dampness and of -fallen leaves, a pervading sense of the dying year. I am in the -well-known woods of Trémeulé, on the height overlooking all the region -of Toulven. Below me, the lake, motionless under this floating mist, -and, in the distance, wooded horizons, as they must have been in the -ancient days of Gaul. - -And those who are with me, sitting among the thousand little flowerets -of the heather, are my Breton friends, my brother Yves and little -Pierre, his son. - -It has become in some sort my own country, this Toulven. A few short -years ago it was unknown to me, and Yves, for all that even then I -called him brother, scarcely counted for me. The aspects of life change, -things happen, are transformed, and pass. - -The heather is so thick that, in the distance, it looks as if the ground -were covered with a reddish carpet. The tardy scabious are still in -flower, on the top of their long stalks; and the first of the heavy -rains have already littered the earth with dead leaves. - - - - -It was true, what Yves had written to me; he had become very steady. He -had just been taken on board one of the ships in the Brest roadstead, -which seemed to assure for him a stay of two years in his native -country. Marie, his wife, was installed near him in the suburb of -Recouvrance, waiting for the little house at Toulven, which was growing -slowly, with very thick and solid walls, in the manner of olden times. -She had welcomed my unexpected return as a blessing from heaven; for my -presence in Brest, near them, reassured her greatly. - -That Yves should have become so steady, and so suddenly, when so far as -one could see there was no decisive circumstance to account for the -change in him, was a thing scarcely to be believed! And Marie, in -confirming her happiness to me, did so very timidly; she spoke of it as -one speaks of unstable, fugitive things, with a fear lest their mere -expression in words should break the spell and frighten them away. - - - - -CHAPTER LXXVIII - - -And then one day the demon of alcohol crossed their path again. Yves -came in with the sullen troubled look Marie had such cause to dread. - -It was a Sunday in October. He arrived from his ship, where he had been -ordered to irons, so he said; and he had escaped because it was unjust. -He seemed very exasperated; his blue jersey was torn and his shirt open. - -She spoke soothingly to him, trying to calm him. It so happened that the -day was beautifully fine; it was one of those rare days of late autumn -which have an exquisite and peaceful melancholy, which are as it were a -last resting place of summer before the winter comes. She had on her -best dress and her embroidered collarette, and had dressed little Pierre -in all his finery, thinking they would all three go for a walk together -in the soft sunshine. In the street, couples passed, in their Sunday -clothes, making their way along the roads or into the woods as in the -spring-time. - -But no, it was not to be; Yves had pronounced the terrifying phrase she -knew so well: "I am going to find my friends!" It was all over! - -Then, almost distracted with grief, she had ventured on an extreme -measure: while he was looking out of the window, she had shut and locked -the door and hidden the key in her bodice. And he, who knew very well -what she had done, turned round and said, hanging his head, his eyes -glowering: - -"Open the door! Open it! Do you hear me? I tell you to open the door." - -He went and shook the door on its hinges; something restrained him yet -from breaking it--which he could have done without any trouble. And -then, no; he would make his wife, who had locked it, come and open it -herself. - -And he walked up and down the room, with the air of a wild beast, -repeating: - -"Open the door! Do you hear me? I tell you to open it." - -The joyous sounds of the Sunday came up from the street. Women in wide -head-dresses passed on the arm of their husbands or their lovers. The -autumn sun illumined them with its tranquil light. - -He stamped his foot and repeated again in a low voice: - -"Open! I tell you to open!" - -It was the first time she had attempted to retain him by force, and she -saw that she was succeeding badly and she was strangely afraid. Without -looking at him, she flung herself on her knees in a corner, and began to -pray, out loud and very quickly, like one possessed. It seemed to her -that she was approaching a terrible moment, that what was going to -happen was more dreadful than anything that had happened before. And -little Pierre, standing up, opened very wide his serious eyes, afraid -also, but not understanding. - -"You won't? You won't open it for me? . . . I will break it, then! You -will see!" - -There was a thud on the floor, then a heavy, horrible sound. Yves had -fallen from his full height. The handle by which he had seized the door -remained in his hand, broken, and he had been thrown backwards on his -son, whose little head had struck against the corner of an iron fire-dog -in the fireplace. - -And then there was a sudden change. Marie ceased her praying. She got -up, her eyes dilated and wild, and snatched her little Pierre from the -hands of Yves, who was attempting to raise him. He had fallen without a -cry, overcome at being hurt by his father. Blood trickled from his -forehead and he uttered no word. Marie pressed him close to her breast, -took the key from her bodice, unlocked the door with one hand and threw -it wide open. . . . Yves watched her, frightened in his turn; she shrank -away from him, crying: - -"Go! Go! Go!" - -Poor Yves! He hesitated now to pass out! He was trying to understand -what had happened. This door which had now been opened for him, he had -no longer use for it; he had a vague notion that this threshold was -going, in some way, to be a fatal one to cross. And then, this blood he -saw on the face of his little son and on his little collar. . . . Yes he -wanted to know what had happened, to come near to them. He passed his -hand over his forehead, feeling that he was drunk, making a great effort -to understand what the matter was . . . God! No, he could not; he -understood nothing. Drink, the friends who were waiting for him below, -that was all. - -She repeated once more, her son clasped close to her heart: - -"Go! Go, I tell you!" - -Then turning about he went downstairs and out. - - - - -CHAPTER LXXIX - - -"Hello! Is that you, Kermadec." - -"Yes, Monsieur Kerjean." - -"And on French leave, I bet?" - -"Yes, Monsieur Kerjean." - -So much indeed might have been guessed from his appearance. - -"And so, I understand you are married, Yves? Someone from Paimpol, that -big fellow Lisbatz, I think, told me you were a family man." - -Yves shrugged his shoulders with a movement of bad-tempered -carelessness, and said: - -"If you are looking for men. Monsieur Kerjean . . . it will suit me very -well to join your ship." - -It was not the first time that this Captain Kerjean had enrolled a -deserter. He understood. He knew how to take them and afterwards how to -manage them. His ship, _la Belle-Rose_, which sailed under the American -flag, was leaving on the following day for California. Yves was -acceptable to him; he was indeed an excellent acquisition to a crew such -as his. - -The two moved aside and discussed, in a low voice, their treaty of -alliance. - -This took place in the Mercantile docks, on the morning of the second -day after he had left his home. - -The day before he had been to Recouvrance, skirting the walls, in an -attempt to get news of his little Pierre. From a distance, he had seen -him looking out of the window at the people passing below, with a little -bandage round his head. And then he had returned on his tracks, -sufficiently reassured, in the half-muddled condition of drunkenness in -which he still was; he had returned on his tracks to "go and find his -friends." - -On this morning he had awakened at daybreak, in a hangar on the quay -where his _friends_ had left him. His drunkenness had now passed, -completely passed. The fine October weather continued, fresh and pure; -things wore their customary aspects, as if nothing had happened, and his -first thoughts were thoughts of tenderness for his son and for Marie; -and he was on the point of rising and going back to them and asking them -to forgive him. Some minutes passed before he realized the extent of his -misfortune, realized that all was over, that he was lost. . . . - -For how could he go back to them now? It was impossible! For very shame -he could not. - -Besides, he had escaped from the ship after being ordered to irons and, -since, had absented himself for three whole days. These were not matters -easily dismissed. And then to take once more those same resolutions, -taken twenty times before, to make once more those same promises, to say -once more those same words of repentance. . . . It did not bear thinking -on. He smiled bitterly in self-pity and disgust. - -And then again his wife had bidden him to "go!" He remembered that -vividly, and her look of hate, as she showed him the door. No matter -that he had deserved it a thousand times, he could never forgive her -that, he who was so used to being lord and master. She had driven him -away. So be it then, he had gone, he was following his destiny, she -would never see him again. - -This backsliding was all the more repugnant to him, in that it followed -upon this period of decent peace during which he had caught a glimpse of -and begun to realize a higher life; and this return to misery seemed to -him a thing decisive and fatal. He observed now that he was covered with -dust and mud and filth of other sort, and he began to dust himself, -raising his head, and gradually assuming an expression of grimness and -disdain. - -That he should have fallen like a senseless brute on his little son and -injured his poor little forehead! He became to himself a miserable, -repulsive thing at the thought of it. - -He began to break with his hands the sides of a wooden box which lay -near him, and under his breath, after an instinctive glance round to see -that he was alone, he called himself, with a bitter, mocking smile, vile -names such as sailors use. - -Now he was on his feet, looking determined and dangerous. - -To desert! If he could join some ship and get away at once! There should -be one in the docks; in fact that day there were many. Yes, he would -desert at any price and disappear for ever! - -His decision had been taken with an implacable resolve. He walked -towards where the ships lay, his shoulders well back, his head high, the -Breton self-will in his half-closed eyes, in his frowning brows. - -He said to himself: "I am worthless, I know it, I always knew it, and -they had far better let me go my ways. I have done my best, but I am -what I am and it is not my fault." - -And he was right perhaps: _it was not his fault._ As he was now he was -not responsible; he yielded to mysterious influences which had their -origin in the remote past and came to him with his blood; he was a -victim of the law of heredity working through a whole family, a whole -race. - - - - -CHAPTER LXXX - - -At two o'clock on this same day on which he had concluded his bargain -with Captain Kerjean, Yves, having bought some ordinary seaman's -clothes, and changed clandestinely in a tavern on the quay, went on -board the _Belle-Rose._ - -He went all over the ship, which was badly kept and had aspects of -primitive roughness, but which nevertheless seemed a stout and handy -vessel, built for speed and the hazards of the sea. - -Compared with the ships of the navy it looked small, short, and, above -all, empty; an air of abandonment with scarce a soul on board; even at -anchor this kind of solitude struck a chill to the heart. Three or four -rough-looking seamen lounged about the deck; they composed the whole -crew, and were about to become, for some years perhaps, Yves' only -companions. - -They began by staring at one another before speaking. - -Throughout the day the fine weather continued, warm and peaceful; a sort -of melancholy summer persisting into the autumn and bringing with it a -kind of tranquillity. And on Yves, too, his decision irrevocably taken, -a calm descended. - -They showed him his little locker, but he had scarcely anything to put -in it. He washed himself in cold water, adjusted his new clothes, with -an air of something like vanity; he wore no longer the livery of the -state which he had often found so irksome; he felt at ease, freed from -all the bonds of the past, almost as much as by death itself. He began -to rejoice in his independence. - -On the following morning, with the tide, the _Belle-Rose_ was going to -put off. Yves scented the ocean, the life of the sea which was about to -commence in the new fashion so long desired. For years this idea of -deserting had obsessed him in a strange way, and now it was a thing -accomplished. The decision he had taken raised him in his own eyes; he -grew bigger as he felt himself outside the law; he was no longer -ashamed, now that he was a deserter, of presenting himself before his -wife; he even told himself that he would have the coinage to go to her -that very night, before he went away, if only to take her the money he -had received. - -At certain moments, when the face of little Pierre passed before his -eyes, his heart ached horribly; it seemed to him that this ship, silent -and empty, was as it were a bier on which he was about to be carried -living to his grave; he almost choked, tears welled into his eyes, but -he checked them in time, with his strong will, by thinking of something -else; and quickly he began to talk to his new-found friends. They -discussed the method of manœuvring the ship with so small a crew, and -the working of the large pulleys which had been multiplied everywhere to -replace the arms of men, and which, so Yves thought, made the gear of -the _Belle-Rose_ unduly heavy. - -In the evening, when it was dark, he went to Recouvrance and climbed -noiselessly to his door. - -He listened first before opening it; there was no sound. He entered -softly. - -A lamp was burning on the table. His son was alone, asleep. He leaned -over his wicker cradle, which had the scent of a bird's nest, and placed -his lips very gently on those of his child in order to feel once more -his soft breathing. Then he sat down near him and remained still, so -that his face might be calm again when his wife should enter. - - - - -CHAPTER LXXXI - - -Marie had seen him coming, and climbed the stairs after him, trembling. - -In the last two days she had had time to consider in all its aspects the -misfortune which had come upon them. - -She had shrunk from questioning the other sailors, as the poor wives of -absentees commonly do, to ascertain from them whether Yves had returned -to his ship. She knew nothing of him, and she was waiting, prepared for -the worst. - -Perhaps he would not come back; she was prepared for that as for -everything else, and was surprised that she could think of it with so -much calmness. In that case her plans were made; she would not return to -Toulven, for fear of seeing their partly built house, for fear also of -hearing the name of her husband execrated daily in the home of her -parents, to which she would have to go. Not to Toulven; but to the -country of Goëlo, where there was an old woman who resembled Yves, and -whose features suddenly assumed for her an infinite kindliness. It was -at her door she would knock. She would be indulgent to him, for she was -his mother. They would be able to speak without hatred of the absent -one; they would live there, the two deserted women, together, and watch -over little Pierre, uniting their efforts to keep him, their last hope, -with them, so that he at least should not be a sailor. - -And it seemed to her, too, that if one day, after many years perhaps, -Yves, the deserter, should return seeking those who belonged to him it -was to that little corner of the world, to Plouherzel, that he would -come. - -The night before, she had had a strange dream of Yves' return; it seemed -to her that many years had passed and that she was already old. Yves -arrived at the cottage in Plouherzel in the evening; he too was old, -altered, wretched. He came asking forgiveness. Behind him Goulven and -Gildas entered, and _another Yves_, taller than them all, with hair -quite white, trailing behind him long fringes of seaweed. - -The old mother received them with her stern face. In a voice infinitely -sad she asked: - -"How comes it that they are all here? My husband was lost at sea more -than sixty years ago. . . . Goulven is in America. . . . Gildas in his -grave in the cemetery. . . . How comes it that they are all here?" - -Then Marie awoke in fear, understanding that she had been surrounded by -the dead. - -But this evening Yves had returned alive and young; she had recognized -in the darkness of the street his tall figure and active step. At the -thought that she was going to see him again and to determine her lot, -all her courage and all her plans had deserted her. She trembled more -and more as she ascended the staircase. . . . Perhaps after all he had -simply passed the last two days on board and was now returning in the -ordinary way. Perhaps they would settle down once more. . . . She paused -on the stairs and prayed God that this might be true, a quick, heartfelt -prayer. - -When she opened the door, he was indeed there, sitting by the cradle and -looking at his sleeping son. - -Poor little Pierre was sleeping peacefully, the bandage still on his -forehead where the fire-iron had cut it. - -As soon as she entered, pale, her heart beating so violently as almost -to hurt her, she saw at once that Yves had not been drinking: he raised -his eyes to her and his gaze was clear; but he lowered them quickly -again and remained bent over his son. - -"Is he much hurt?" he asked in an undertone, slowly, with a calmness -that surprised and frightened her. - -"No, I have been to the doctor for the dressing. He says that it will -not leave a mark. He did not cry at all." - -They remained there, silent, one before the other, he still sitting near -the little cradle, she standing, white-faced and trembling. There was no -ill-will between them now; perhaps they loved each other still; but now -the irreparable was accomplished and it was too late. She looked at the -clothes he wore, which she had never seen him in before: a black woollen -jersey and a cloth cap. Why these clothes? And this little parcel near -him on the floor, out of which the end of a blue collar peeped? It -seemed to contain his sailor's effects, put aside for ever, as if the -real Yves was dead. - -She found courage to ask: - -"The other day, did you return to the ship?" - -There was silence again. She was conscious of a growing anxiety. - -"During the last three days, you have not returned?" - -"No!" - -Then she did not dare to speak again, fearing to hear the dreadful -truth; trying to prolong the minutes, even these minutes compact of -uncertainty and anguish, because he was still there, before her, perhaps -for the last time. - -At last the poignant question fell from her lips: - -"What are you going to do then?" - -And he, in a low voice, simply, with the calmness of an unalterable -resolve, let fall the fatal word: - -"Desert!" - -Desert! . . . Yes, she had divined it only too well in the last few -moments, when she saw his altered clothing, and this little parcel of -sailor's kit carefully folded in a handkerchief. - -She recoiled under the weight of the word, supporting herself with her -hands against the wall behind her, almost choking. Deserter! Yves! lost! -The thought of Goulven, his brother, passed through her mind, and of -distant seas from which sailors never return. And, feeling her -helplessness against this fate which crushed her, she remained silent, -utterly overwhelmed. - -Yves began to speak to her very kindly, pointing with sorrowful calm to -the little parcel which he had brought. - -"I want you, my poor Marie, to-morrow, when my ship has left, to send -that on board, you understand. You never can tell! . . . If I am caught -. . . It is always more serious to take away the property of the State! -And this is the advance payment they have given me. . . . You will -return to Toulven. . . . Oh! I will send you money, all I earn; you -know, I shall not want much myself. We shall not see each other again, -but you will not be too unfortunate . . . as long as I live." - -She wanted to throw her arms round him, to hold him with all her -strength, to struggle, to cling to him when he was going away, if needs -be to let herself be dragged down the staircase, and even into the -street. . . . But no, something held her bound where she stood: first -the knowledge that all that she might do could be of no avail, and then -a sense of dignity, there, where their son lay asleep. . . . And she -remained against the wall, without a movement. - -He had placed two hundred francs in large silver pieces on the table -near him. They represented the payment that had been made to him in -advance, all that remained of it, after he had paid for his clothes. He -looked at her now very thoughtfully, very kindly, and with his woollen -sleeve brushed off some tears that were rolling down his cheeks. - -But he had nothing more to say to her. And now the last minute had come -and all was over. - -He bent again for a last time over his little son, then straightened -himself and got up to go. - - - - -CHAPTER LXXXII - - -And the Celts mourned three barren rocks under a lowering sky, in the -heart of a gulf dotted with islets. - ---G. FLAUBERT, SALAMMBÔ. - - -The Coral Sea! At the Antipodes of our old world. Nothing but blue -anywhere. Around the ship which proceeds slowly, the infinite blue -spreads its perfect circle. The surface shines and glitters under the -eternal sun. - -Yves is there, alone, carried high in the air in a thing which -oscillates slowly; he passes, in his top. - -He gazes, with unseeing eyes at the limitless circle; he is as it were -dazed with space and light. His expressionless eyes come to rest at -hazard, for, everywhere, all is alike. - -Everywhere, all is alike. . . . It is the great blind, unconscious -splendour of things which men believe have been made for them. Over the -surface of the waters pass life-giving breezes which no one breathes; -warmth and light are poured out in abundance; all the sources of life -are open on the silent solitudes of the sea and fill them with a strange -glory. - -The surface shines and glitters under the eternal sun. The great blaze -of noon falls into the blue desert in a useless and wasted magnificence. - -Presently Yves thinks he can discern in the distance a trail less blue, -and his attention, which just now wandered idly over the sparkling and -tranquil monotony, is concentrated upon it: it is no doubt the sea -breaking into foam over the whiteness of coral, breaking on isles -unknown, level with the water, which no map has yet shown. - -How far away is Brittany--and the green lanes of Toulven--and his little -son! - -Yves has come out of his dream, and is watching, his hand shading his -eyes, that distant trail which still shows white. - -He does not look like a deserter, for he is wearing still the blue -collar of the navy. - -Now he can distinguish the breakers and the coral quite clearly, and he -leans over a little in the air, and calls out to those below: "Reefs on -the port bow." - -No, Yves has not deserted, for the ship he is on is the warship -_Primauguet._ - -He has not deserted, for he is still with me, and when he announced from -aloft the approach of the reefs it was I who climbed up to him in his -top, to reconnoitre with him. - -At Brest on that unhappy day when he had decided to leave us, I had seen -him pass in common seaman's garb, carrying his sailor's kit so neatly -folded in a handkerchief, and I had followed him at a distance as far as -Recouvrance. I had let Marie enter and then I had entered too, after -them; and as he came out he had found me waiting outside his door, -barring his passage with my outspread arms--as, once before, at Toulven. -Only this time it was not merely a matter of checking a childish -caprice; I was about to engage in a supreme struggle with him. - -And long and cruel the struggle was, and there was a moment when I -almost lost heart and abandoned him to the gloomy destiny which was -carrying him away. And then, abruptly, it had ended. Tears came to save -him, tears that had been wanting to come for the last two days--but -could not, so little used were his eyes to this form of weakness. Then -we put little Pierre, who had just awakened, on his knee; his little -Pierre bore him no ill-will at all, but put his arms straightway round -his neck. And Yves, at last, had said to me: - -"Very well, brother, I will do anything you tell me to do. But, no -matter what, you must see now that I am done for. . . ." - -His case was indeed very serious and I did not know myself what course -to take: it was a sort of rebellion, to have escaped from the ship after -having been sentenced to irons, and then to have absented himself for -three days! I had been tempted to say to them, after I had made them -embrace: "Desert both of you, all three of you, my dear friends; for it -is too late now to do anything better. Let Yves go away on the -_Belle-Rose_ and do you go and join him in America." - -But no, that was too desperate a remedy, to abandon for ever their -Breton land, and the little house at Toulven, and their old parents! - -So, trembling a little at my responsibility, I had taken the contrary -decision: to return that very evening the advance already received, to -free Yves from the hands of this Captain Kerjean, and, when morning -came, as soon as the port should open, to hand him over to the naval -authorities. Anxious days had followed, days of applications and of -waiting, and at last, with much leniency and kindness, the matter had -been settled in this way: a month in irons and six months' suspension -from the rating of petty officer, with return to the pay of a simple -sailor. - -That is how my poor Yves, embarked once more with me on this -_Primauguet_, finds himself back in the crow's nest, again a topman as -before, and performing the rough work he knew of old. - -Standing, both of us, on the yard of the foresail, our bodies swung out -into the void, with one hand shading our eyes, with the other holding on -to the cordage, we watched together, in the distance of the resplendent -blue solitudes, the white line of breakers growing ever more distinct; -the continuous noise they made was like the distant sound of a church -organ in the midst of the silence of the sea. - -It was in fact a large coral island which no navigator had hitherto -discovered; it had risen slowly from the depths below; century after -century it had put forth patiently its branches of stone; even now it -was only an immense crown of white foam, making, amid the infinite calm -of the sea, the noise of a living thing, a kind of mysterious and -eternal murmuring. - -Everywhere else the blue expanse was uniform, safe, deep, infinite; we -could proceed on our way without misgiving. - -"You have won _the double_, brother," I said to Yves. - -I meant: the double ration of wine at dinner. On board, this _double_ is -the usual recompense for a sailor who has been the first to sight land -or to announce a danger--or for him who catches a rat without the -help of a trap--or even for him who has turned himself out more smartly -than the others for the Sunday inspection. - -Yves smiled, but with the air of one who suddenly has a sombre thought. - -"You know very well that now wine and I . . . But that's no matter, I -can give it to the topmen at my table. They will drink it willingly -enough." - -It was the fact that since the day when he had pushed little Pierre -against the fire-irons in the grate, far away, in Brest, he had drunk -only water. He had sworn this on the poor little wounded head, and it -was the first solemn oath of his life. - -We were talking together, in the pure virgin air, among the loosely -hanging sails, which looked very white in the sun, when the sound of a -whistle came from below, a quite distinctive whistle which meant in -nautical language: "The leader of the foresail top is wanted below. Let -him come down quickly!" - -It was Yves who was leader of the foresail top; he descended in great -haste to see what was wanted of him. The second-in-command had asked to -see him in his room; and I knew very well why. - -In the remote and tranquil seas in which we were cruising the sailors -became rather hazy about the seasons, the months and the days; they lost -the sense of the passage of time in the monotony of the days. - -And in fact summer and winter had lost their qualities; they were no -longer recognizable, for the climate was different. Nor did the things -of nature serve now to mark them out. There was always this infinity of -water, always this wooden house in which we dwelt, and, in the spring, -there came no touch of green. - -Yves had resumed without difficulty his former occupation, his habits of -topman, his life in the crow's nest, well-nigh naked, exposed to wind -and sun, with his knife and his "mooring." He had ceased to count the -days because they were all alike, merged one into another by the -regularity of the watches, by the alternation of a sun that was always -hot with nights that were always clear. He had accepted this time of -exile without measuring it. - -But to-day was the day when his six months of punishment expired; and -the captain had to tell him to take back his stripes, his silver whistle -and his authority as petty officer. He did so with much cordiality and -shook him by the hand; for Yves, while his punishment had lasted, had -shown himself exemplary in conduct and courage and no top had ever been -kept like his. - -Yves came back to me with a broad smile of happiness: - -"Why didn't you tell me it was to-day?" - -He had been promised that, if he went on as he was going, his punishment -would soon be quite forgotten. Clearly, the oath he had taken on the -wounded head of his little Pierre, at the end of that dreadful evening, -was succeeding beyond his hope. - - - - -CHAPTER LXXXIII - - -The afternoon of the same day. Yves is in my room, busy putting his -stripes on his sleeves, in haste to finish before darkness falls, -looking comical as always, with his big air of sea-rover, when he is -engaged in sewing. - -They are not very elegant, his poor clothes; they show signs of hard -wear. For he was not rich when he left Brest with his reduced pay; and, -so as not to break into his allowance, he had refrained from drawing too -many things from the store. But they are so clean, the little woollen -stripes are so neatly placed one above the other, on each forearm and on -the bottom of each sleeve, that he will pass muster very well. These new -stripes give them even a certain lustre of youth. Besides, Yves looks -well in anything; and then, too, one wears very little clothing on -board, and as he will put them on but rarely, they will certainly serve -him until the end of the voyage. As for money, Yves has none; he has -forgotten even the use and value of it, as often happens to sailors--for -he allots to his wife, at Brest, his pay and his stripe-money, all that -he earns. - -By the time it is dark, his work is finished. He carefully folds his -coat and then sweeps away the little ends of thread which he has let -fall on the floor. Then he informs himself very exactly of the month and -the date, lights a candle, and begins to write. - - -"AT SEA, ON BOARD THE _Primauguet_, - -"23_rd April_, 1882. - - -"MY DEAR WIFE,--I am writing these few words in advance to-day in M. -Pierre's room. I will post them next month when we touch at the Hawaii -Islands (a country . . . but I don't suppose you will know where it is). - -"I want to tell you that I have recovered my stripes to-day and that you -may set your mind at rest, I shall not lose them again; I have sewn them -on _very tight_ this time. - -"Dear wife, this reminds me that it is only six months since we parted, -and that it will be a long time yet before we see each other again. But -I assure you that I should dearly love to be back for a time at Toulven, -to give you a hand in getting our house ready; and yet, it is not simply -for that, you know, but above all, to spend some time with you, and to -see our little Pierre running about. They will have to give me a long -leave when we return, at least fifteen or twenty days; indeed I do not -think twenty will be enough and I shall ask for as many as thirty. - -"Dear Marie, I can tell you, however, that I am very happy on board, -especially because I have been able to embark with M. Pierre. It is what -I had hoped for for a very long time. It has been a very fine voyage and -a very economical one for me who have need to save a lot of money as you -know. Perhaps I may get another promotion before we disembark, seeing -that I am on very good terms with all the officers. - -"I have also to tell you that the flying fish . . ." - - -Crack! On deck someone whistles: "Aloft everyone!" Yves hurries away; -and no one has ever heard the end of the story of the flying fish. - -He has preserved with his wife his childlike manner of being and -writing. With me, he is changed, he has become a new Yves, more complex, -more sophisticated than the Yves of old. - - - - -CHAPTER LXXXIV - - -The night which follows is clear and exquisite. We are moving very -slowly, in the Coral sea, before a light, warm breeze, advancing with -precaution, in fear of encountering white islands, listening to the -silence, in fear of hearing the murmur of reefs. - -From midnight to four o'clock in the morning, the time of the watch has -passed in vigil, amid the great, strange peace of the southern waters. - -Everything is of a blue-green, of a blue of night, of a colour of -infinite depth; the moon, which at first sails high in the heaven, -throws little flickering reflections on the sea, as if everywhere, on -the immense empty plain, mysterious hands were agitating silently -thousands of little mirrors. - -The half-hours pass one after another, undisturbed, the breeze steady, -the sails very lightly stretched. The sailors of the watch, in their -linen clothes, are asleep on the bare deck, in rows, all on the same -side, fitted in one with another, like rows of white mummies. - -At each half-hour a bell rings, startlingly; and two voices come from -the bow of the ship, singing out one after the other, in a kind of slow -rhythm: "Keep a look out on the port bow!" says one. "Keep a look out on -the starboard bow!" replies the other. The noise is surprising, -producing the impression of a formidable clamour in all this silence; -and then the vibrations of the voices and of the bell die away and there -is no longer a sound. - -Meanwhile the moon is slowly sinking and its blue light grows wan; it is -much nearer the water now and its reflection in it makes a long trail of -light. - -It becomes yellower, scarcely giving any light, like a dying lamp. - -Slowly, it begins to get larger, disproportionately larger; then it -becomes red, loses its shape, and is swallowed up, strange, terrifying. -And then what one sees has no longer a name: on the horizon is a great -dull fire, blood-red. It is too large to be the moon, and, besides, -distant things now mass in front of it in large dark shadows; colossal -towers, toppling mountains, palaces, Babels! - -One feels as it were a veil of darkness weighing upon the senses. There -comes to you an impression of apocalyptic cities, of clouds heavy with -blood, of suspended maledictions; a conception of gigantic horrors, of -chaotic destructions, of the end of the world. . . . - -For a moment the mind has slept, involuntarily; and a waking dream has -come and gone, very quickly. - -Mirage! And now it is over and the moon has set. There was nothing -beyond save the infinite sea and floating mists announcing the approach -of dawn; now that the moon is no longer behind them, they are not even -discernible. All has vanished and the darkness has returned, the real -darkness of night, clear and calm as ever. - -They are far away from us, those countries of the Apocalypse: for we are -in the Coral Sea, on the other side of the world, and there is nothing -here but the immense circle, the limitless mirror of the waters. . . . - -A signalman has gone to see the time by the chronometer. Out of -deference to the moon, he is going to note in the large register, always -open, which is the ship's log, the precise moment at which it set. - -Then he comes to me and says: - -"Captain, it is time to call the watch." My four hours of the night -watch are already finished, then, and the officer to relieve me will -shortly make his appearance. - -I give the order: - -"Master-gunners and loaders, call the watch!"[5] - -Then, some of those who were sleeping on the deck, like white mummies, -get up and awaken some of the others; they move off in a group and go -below. And then, from the spar-deck, comes the sound of twenty voices, -singing one after the other--in the manner of glee-singing--a very -ancient air, at once joyous and mocking. - -They sing: - -"Have you heard, you larboard men, get up for the watch, get up, get up, -get up! . . . Have you heard, you larboard men, get up for the watch, -get up, get up, get up! . . ." - -They move hither and thither, stooping under the suspended hammocks, -and, as they pass, shake the sleepers with thrusts of their powerful -shoulders. - -And presently, inexorable, I give the order: - -"Fall in on deck, the larboard watch!" - -And they come up half-naked; there are some who yawn, others who stretch -themselves, who stumble. They line up in groups, while a man, with a -lantern, peers into their faces and counts them. The others who were -sleeping on deck go below and sleep in their place. - -Yves has come up with the men of the larboard watch who have just been -awakened. I recognize at once his way of whistling which I had not heard -now for a year. And presently I recognize his voice which rings out in -command for the first time on the deck of the _Primauguet._ - -Then I call him very officially by the title which has just been -restored to him: "Master of the Watch." - -It was only to shake him by the hand, to wish him good luck and good -night before I went to bed. - - -[Footnote 5: The regulation order. On board the crew is divided into a -number of groups, each forming a gun's crew. The master-gunner and the -loaders escort the men of their group and awaken those who replace them -for the watch.] - - - - -CHAPTER LXXXV - - -"Haul away there, Goulven!" - -It was a difficult boarding. I had come, in a cutter from the -_Primauguet_, to examine a suspicious-looking whaling ship, which showed -no flag. - -In the southern ocean, still; near the Isle of Tonga, and to windward of -it. The _Primauguet_ itself was anchored in a bay of the island, within -the line of reefs, in the shelter of a coral bank. The whaler lay -off-shore almost in the open sea, as if in readiness for flight, and the -swell was heavy about her. - -I had been sent with a party to reconnoitre her, to "speak" to her as we -say in the navy. - -"Haul away there, Goulven! Haul!" - -I looked up at the man who was called Goulven; he was the one, who, on -the deck of the equivocal craft, held the rope which had just been -thrown to me. And I was struck by his face, by his familiar look: he was -another Yves, not so young, more sunburnt and more athletic -perhaps--harsher in feature, as one who had suffered more--but he was so -like him in the eyes, in the expression, that he looked to me like his -double. - -I had sometimes thought that we might come across this brother Goulven, -on one of these whaling boats which we found, now and then, in the -anchorages of the southern seas, and which we "spoke" to when we did not -like their look. - -I went straight to him, without worrying about the captain, who was a -huge American, headed like a pirate, with a long, thick, seaweed-like -beard. I entered there as on conquered territory and etiquette mattered -little to me. - -"So it's you, Goulven Kermadec?" - -And I advanced towards him holding out my hand, so sure was I of his -identity. - -But he, for his part, paled under his tan, and shrank back. He was -afraid. - -And I saw him, in an instinct of uncivilized man, clenching his fists, -stiffening his muscles, as if prepared to resist to the utmost, in a -desperate struggle. - -Poor Goulven! The surprise of hearing me call him by his name--and then -my uniform--and the sixteen armed sailors who accompanied me, had been -too much for him. He thought that I had come in the name of the law of -France, to seize him, and, like Yves, he became exasperated under the -threat of force. - -It took a minute or two to reassure him; and then when he was persuaded -that his _little brother_ had become mine, and that he was hard by, on -the warship from which I had come, he asked my pardon for his fear with -the same frank smile I knew so well in Yves. - -It was a singular looking crew. The boat itself had the movements and -the appearance of a pirate-ship. Licked and fretted by the sea, during -the three years in which it had wandered in the swell of the great ocean -without having once touched any civilized country, but solid still, and -built for the seas' highways. In its shrouds, from bottom to top, on -each ratline, hung whale's fins, looking like long dark fringes. One -would have said that it had passed under the water and become covered -with seaweed. - -Within, it was laden with the fats and oils from the bodies of all the -great beasts which they had slain. There was enough there to make a -small fortune, and the captain was reckoning on returning shortly to -America, to California where his home was. - -A mixed crew: two Frenchmen, two Americans, three Spaniards, a German, -an Indian "boy," and a Chinese cook. In addition a Peruvian -_chola_--half-naked like the men--who was the wife of the captain and -was suckling a baby two months old conceived and born at sea. - -The living quarters of this family, in the stern, had oak walls as thick -as ramparts, and doors barred with iron. Within was a veritable arsenal -of revolvers, knuckle-dusters, and life-preservers. Precautions had been -taken; if occasion arose one would be able there to stand a siege by the -whole crew. - -For the rest, her papers were in order. She had not hoisted a flag for -the simple reason that she had not got one; beetles had eaten the last, -of which they showed me the rags to substantiate their excuse; it had -the American colours right enough, red and white stripes, with the -starred Jack. There was nothing to be said; everything was, in fact, -correct. - -. . . Goulven asked me if I knew Plouherzel; and I told him how I had -slept one night under his mother's roof. - -"And you," I said, "are you never going to return." - -I could see that he was much moved. - -"It is too late now. I should have my punishment to do for the State, -and I am married in California. I have two children in Sacramento." - -"Will you come with me to see Yves?" - -"Come with you?" he repeated darkly, in a low voice. He seemed -astonished at what I proposed to him. "Come with you? But you know . . . -I am a deserter?" - -At this moment he was so like Yves, he said this so exactly as Yves -might have said it, that I felt a pang. - -After all, I understood his fears of a man free and jealous of his -liberty; I respected his terrors of French territory--for the deck of a -warship is French territory--on board the _Primauguet._ We should have -the right to arrest him; that was the law. - -"At any rate you would like to see him?" - -"Like to see him! . . . My poor little Yves!" - -"Very well, then, I will bring him to you. When he comes, all I ask of -you is that you will advise him to be steady. You understand . . . -Goulven?" - -It was he then who took my hand and pressed it in his. - - - - -CHAPTER LXXXVI - - -I had accepted an invitation to dinner on the following day with the -captain of the whaler. We had got on famously together. His manners were -not those of polite society, but there was nothing vulgar or commonplace -about him. And besides it was the only way in which I could get Yves on -board his ship. - -I half expected on the following morning, at daybreak, to find that the -whaler had disappeared, flown during the night like a wild bird. But no; -there it was in its position off-shore, with all its black fringes in -its shrouds, standing out against the great circular mirror of the -waters; which, on that morning, were motionless, and heavy, and -gleaming, like coulées of silver. - -The invitation was seriously meant, therefore, and they were waiting for -me. As a precaution, the captain had decided that the crew of the cutter -which took me should be armed and should remain with me throughout. This -fitted in admirably so far as Yves was concerned, and I took him with me -as coxswain. - - - - -CHAPTER LXXXVII - - -The captain received me on his quarter-deck, dressed in reasonably -correct American fashion; the _chola_, transformed, wore a red silk -dress with a magnificent collar of pearls collected on the Pomoto -islands; I was struck by her good looks and her perfect figure. - -We repair together to the room of the formidable iron-barred walls. It -is dark and gloomy there; but, through the little deep-set windows, we -see the splendour of what look like enchanted things: a sea of a milky -blue, and with the polish of a turquoise, a distant island, of a purple -iris colour, and a multitude of little orange-tinted clouds floating in -a golden green sky. - -Afterwards when we turn our eyes from these little open windows, from -the contemplation of all this light, the low-pitched cabin seems -stranger than before, with its irregular shape and its massive beams, -its arsenal of revolvers, of knuckle-dusters, leather thongs and whips. - -The dinner consists of tinned foods from San Francisco, exquisite fruits -from the Isle of Tonga-Taboo, needle-fish, slim little inhabitants of -the warm seas; and we drink French wines, Peruvian _pisco_ and English -liqueurs. - -The Chinaman who waits upon us wears a silk robe of episcopal violet and -slippers with thick paper soles. The _chola_ sings a _zamacuéca_ of -Chile, playing, on a _diguhela_, a sort of accompaniment which sounds -like the monotonous little clatter of a trotting mule. The doors of the -fortress are wide open. Thanks to the presence of my sixteen armed men, -a sense of security reigns, a peaceful intimacy, which are really very -touching. - -In the bow the men from the _Primauguet_ are drinking and singing with -the crew of the whaler. It is a general holiday on board. And, from the -distance, I see Yves and Goulven, who, for their part, are not drinking, -walking up and down in conversation. Goulven, the taller of the two, has -passed his arm round the shoulders of his brother, who holds him, in -turn, round the waist. Isolated from the rest they continued their -stroll, talking together in a low voice. - -The glasses were emptied everywhere in strange toasts. The captain, who -at first resembled the impassive statue of a marine or river god, woke -up, and began to laugh a powerful laugh which shook his whole body; his -mouth opened like that of a cetacean, and he started to talk of strange -things in English, forgetting himself so far in his confidences as to -tell me things for which he might well have been hanged; his -conversation turns into a pretty tale of unmitigated piracy. . . . - -The _chola_ retires to her cabin, and a tattooed sailor is brought in -and undressed during the dessert. The object of this is to show me the -tattooing which represents a fox hunt. - -It begins at the neck: horsemen, hounds, in full cry, wind in a spiral -round his body. - -"You haven't yet seen the fox?" the captain asks me with a boisterous -laugh. - -The discovery of the fox, it seems, is going to be a very funny -business, for he is ready to die with laughter at the thought of it. And -he makes the man, who is already tipsy, turn round and round several -times so that we may follow the hunt which continues its downward -course. In the neighbourhood of his loins, the hunt thickens and one -foresees the end is near. - -"See! there he is!" cries the captain with the head of a river god, at -the height of his savage merriment, throwing himself back, transported -with satisfaction and laughter. - -The hunted beast has gone to earth; only half of it can be seen. And -that is the great culminating surprise. The sailor is invited to drink -with us, as a reward for letting us see him. - -It was time to go on deck and get a little pure air, the fresh and -delicious air of the evening. The sea, which still was motionless and -heavy, gleamed in the distance, reflecting the last lights that came -from the west. And now the men began to dance to a jig-like air played -on a flute. - -As they danced the men cast sidelong glances at us, half in shy -curiosity, half in scornful disdain. They had some of those tricks of -physiognomy which sea-going men have preserved from our primitive -ancestors; and comical gestures at every turn, an excessive mimicry, -like animals in the wild state. Sometimes they threw themselves back, -cambering their bodies; sometimes, by virtue of natural suppleness and -their habits of stratagem, they crouched down, arching their backs, in -the manner of wild beasts when they walk in the light of day. Round and -round they went, to the sound of the fluted music, of the little -jigging, infantine tol-de-rol-lol; very serious, dancing very well, with -graceful poses of arms and circular movements of legs. - -But Yves and Goulven continued to walk up and down together. They had -many things still to say to each other, and they were making the most of -these last final minutes, for they knew that I was about to leave. They -had seen each other once, fifteen years before, while Yves was still -quite a little fellow, on that day which Goulven had spent at -Plouherzel, in hiding like a fugitive, and, as far as could be seen, -they would never meet again. - -Suddenly, we saw two of the dancers seize each other round the waist, -throw themselves to the ground, still close grappled one with the other, -and then begin to fight, to throttle one another, taken with a sudden -rage; they tried to use their knives and already there were red marks of -blood on the deck. - -The captain with the river god head separated them by lashing them both -with a whip of hippopotamus hide. - -"No matter," he said in English; "they are drunk!" - -It was time to go. Goulven and Yves embraced each other, and I saw tears -in Goulven's eyes. - -As we were returning over the tranquil sea, the first southern stars -enkindling on high, Yves spoke to me of his brother: - -"He is not very happy. Although he earns a good deal of money and has a -little house in California, to which he hopes to return. But there it -is; it is the longing for his home country which is killing him." - -This captain promised to bring his _chola_ to have dinner with me on the -following day on my ship. But, during the night, the whaler put to sea, -vanished into the empty immensity; we never saw her again. - - - - -CHAPTER LXXXVIII - - -"And so you have come to get your allowance, too Madame Quéméneur?" - -"And you, too, Madame Kerdoncuff?" - -"And where is your husband now, Madam Quéméneur?" - -"In China, Madame Kerdoncuff, on the _Kerguelen_." - -"And mine, too, you know, Madame Quéméneur; he is there, too, on the -_Vénus_." - -It is in the Rue des Voutes, in Brest, with a fine rain falling, that -this dialogue of strangely shrill, falsetto voices takes place. - -The street is full of women who have been waiting there since the -morning, outside an ugly granite building: the sailors' pay office. -Women of Brest, deterred in no wise by the cold rain, they are talking -querulously, their feet in water, hugging the walls of the mournful -little street, in the grey mist. - -It is the first day of the quarter. They form a queue to get their money -and none too soon, for money is wanting in all the dark dwellings of the -town. - -Wives of sailors far away at sea, they are waiting to draw their -allowances, the pay which those sailors have allotted them. - -And when they have drawn it they will spend it on drink. There is, -opposite, a tavern which has been established specially for their -convenience. It is called _À la mère de famille_ and the proprietress -is one Madame Pétavin. It is known in Brest as _le cabaret de la -délégue_ (the tavern of the allowance). - -Madame Quéméneur, pug-faced, square-jawed, big-bellied, wears a -waterproof and a bonnet of black tulle trimmed with blue shells. - -Madame Kerdoncuff, sickly, greenish, with a look of a blue-bottle, shows -a mean, sly-looking face under a hat trimmed with two roses with their -foliage. - -As the hour approaches the crowd of inebriates increases. The paying -office is besieged; there are disputes at the doors. The cashier's desk -is about to open. - -And Marie, the wife of Yves, is there too, in this unclean -promiscuousness, holding little Pierre by the hand. Timid, depressed, -filled with a vague fear of all these women, she allows the more -impatient to pass and waits against the wall on the side sheltered from -the rain. - -"Come in, my good woman, instead of letting the dear little fellow get -wet like this." - -It is Madame Pétavin who speaks. She has just appeared at her door, her -face wreathed in smiles. - -"Can I get you anything? A little of the best?" - -"No, thank you; I do not drink," replies Marie, who, however, seeing -that the tavern is empty, enters for fear lest her little Pierre should -catch cold. "But if I am in your way. . . ." - -Surely not, she was not in Madame Pétavin's way at all. Madame Pétavin -had a kind heart and made her sit down. - -Presently Madame Quéméneur and Madame Kerdoncuff, among the first to -be paid, enter, shut up their umbrellas, and sit down. - -"Madame! Madame! Bring us half a pint in two glasses." - -No need to ask half a pint of what. Brandy, and raw brandy at that, is -what they crave. - -These good ladies begin to talk: - -"What did you say your husband was, on the _Kerguelen_, Madame -Quéméneur?" - -"He's a leading seaman, Madame Kerdoncuff." - -"And mine, too, you know, is a leading seaman, Madame Quéméneur! Wives -of leading seamen ought to be friends! Here's to you, Victoire-Yvonne!" - -The women were already addressing each other by their Christian names. -The glasses were emptied. - -Marie turned upon them big, serious eyes, examining them suddenly with -much curiosity, as one might animals in a menagerie. And she had an -impulse to leave, to get away. But, outside, it was raining heavily, and -there was a crowd still at the door of the paying office. - -"Your health, Victoire-Yvonne!" - -"Your health, Françoise!" - -Glasses are replenished again. - -The women now begin to talk of their domestic affairs: it is difficult -enough to make ends meet! But it can't be helped! The baker, this time, -will have to wait until next quarter day. The butcher will have to be -satisfied with something on account. To-day, pay day, may not one have a -little enjoyment? - -"But I, you know," says Madame Kerdoncuff, with a coquettish smile full -of suggestion, "I am not too badly off, because, you see, I let a -furnished room to an old sailor, who is a petty officer in the port." - -There is no need to be more explicit. The face of Madame Quéméneur -wears a smile of comprehension. - -"And I, too, I have a quartermaster. . . . Here's to you, -Françoise! . . ." (The women whisper to each other.) "He's a gay dog, my -quartermaster, I can tell you! . . ." - -And the chapter of intimate confidences begins. - -Marie Kermadec gets up. Has she heard aright? Many of the words used are -unknown to her, it is true, but the meaning of them is transparent and -gestures make it doubly clear. Are there really women who can bring -themselves to say such things? And she goes out, without looking back, -without a word of thanks, red, conscious of her burning cheeks. - -"Did you see her? We have shocked her!" - -"Oh well, you know, she's from the country; she still wears the coif of -Bannalec; she's green yet." - -"Here's to you, Victoire-Yvonne!" - -The tavern is filling. At the door, umbrellas are closed, old -waterproofs are shaken; many more women come in, liquor flows. - -And, at home, are little mites puling with the voices of jackals in -distress; emaciated children whimpering from cold and hunger. So much -the worse, here's to you, for is it not pay day! - -When Marie got outside, she saw a group of women in large coifs who were -standing aside to make way for the press of the brazen ones; and she -went quickly and took her place amongst them so that she might once more -be in honest company. Amongst them were dear old women from the villages -who had come to draw the allowance of their sons, and who were waiting -under their cotton umbrellas, with the dignified, prim faces, which -peasant women assume in the town. - -As she was waiting her turn, she entered into conversation with an old -woman from Kermézeau, who told her the history of her son, a gunner on -the _Astrée._ It appeared that in his early youth he had had bouts -similar to those of Yves, but afterwards, as he got older, he had quite -settled down; one need never despair of a sailor. . . . - -Nevertheless in her indignation against these women of Brest, Marie had -come to a momentous decision: to return to Toulven at whatever cost, and -to-morrow if possible. - -As soon as she got back to her room, she began to write a long letter to -Yves giving the reasons for her decision. It was true, their tenancy of -the lodgings at Récouvrance had still three months to run and that the -little house at Toulven would not be finished for a long time yet; but -she would make up for all that by working and strict economy; she would -take in mending for the neighbours, and would goffer the large native -collarettes, work of some difficulty, which she knew how to do very -perfectly by the skilful use of very fine reeds. - -And she went on to tell him all the new things which little Pierre had -learnt to say and do; in very naïve terms, she told of her great love -for the absent one; she enclosed a curl, cut from a certain little brown -and very restless head; and put the whole in an envelope of thin paper -which she superscribed thus: - -"To Monsieur Kermadec, Yves, Leading Seaman on board the _Primauguet_, -in the southern seas, c/o the French Consul at Panama, to be forwarded." - -Poor little letter! Will it ever be delivered? Who can tell? It is not -impossible, more unlikely things have happened. In five months, six -months, travel-stained and covered with American postmarks, it will be -delivered, perhaps, faithfully to Yves, and bring him the deep love of -his wife and the brown curl of his son. - - - - -CHAPTER LXXXIX - - -_May_, 1882. - - -In the evening, in the southern solitudes. The wind was rising. Over all -this moving immensity in which the _Primauguet_ dwelt long dark blue -waves were chasing one another. It was a damp wind and struck chill. - -Below on the spar-deck, Le Hir the idiot was hastening, before darkness -fell, to sew up a corpse in pieces of grey canvas which were the remains -of sails. - -Yves and Barrada, standing, were watching him with a kind of horror. -They had perforce to remain close to him, in a very small mortuary -chamber, which had been made by suspending other sails and which was -guarded by a gunner, cutlass in hand. - -It was Barazère who was being sewn up in these grey remnants. He had -died of a disease contracted long before in Algiers--on a night of -pleasure. . . . Many times he had believed himself cured; but the deadly -poison remained in his blood, reappeared from time to time, and at last -had killed him. Towards the end he had been covered with hideous sores -and his friends had avoided him. - -It fell to Le Hir to sew him up, for all the others had refused, out of -fear of his malady. Le Hir had accepted on the strength of a promise of -a pint of wine. - -The rolling of the ship worried him, hampered him in his work, kept -shifting the corpse out of position; and he was eager to be done and to -get the wine that was waiting for him. - -First, the feet; he had been told to bind them tight on account of the -cannon-ball which is attached to the dead body to make it sink. Then the -legs; and presently the body was entirely hidden, enveloped in many -thicknesses of coarse canvas; only the pale face was now visible, -tranquil in death, and looking strangely handsome with a peaceful smile. -And then roughly, with a brutal indifference, Le Hir drew over it an end -of the grey canvas and the face was veiled for ever. - -In a French village the old parents of this Barazère were looking -forward to the day of his return. - -When the job was done Yves and Barrada came out of the mortuary chamber -pushing Le Hir before them by the shoulders, to see that he washed his -hands before he drank his wine. - -They had been exchanging ideas about death apparently, for Barrada, as -he came out, said in his Bordeaux accent: - -"Ah! Nonsense! It is with men as with beasts; others will come, but -those who die . . ." - -And he finished by laughing that curious laugh of his, which sounded -deep and hollow like a roar. - -From his lips, there was nothing impious in the phrase; it was simply -that he knew nothing better to say. - -They were both, as a matter of fact, much moved; they grieved for -Barazère. Now, the malady which had caused them fear was covered up, -forgotten; in their memory, the dead man had emerged from that final -impurity and become suddenly ennobled; they saw him again as in the time -of his strength, and in thinking of him they were moved to pity. - - - - -CHAPTER XC - - -"There's no foppery in a sailor who has washed his skin in the waters of -five or six oceans." - - -On the following morning, when the sun rose, the wind was still fresh. -The _Primauguet_ was moving very quickly, rocking in its course with the -supple and vigorous movement of a mighty runner. In the bow the men -released from the watch were singing as they made their morning toilet, -stripped, resembling, with their muscular arms and shoulders, the -statues of ancient Greece; they were washing themselves liberally in -cold water; they plunged their head and shoulders into tubs, covered -their chests with a white foam of soap and then, turn and turn about, -rubbed one another down. - -Suddenly they remembered the dead man and their blythe song subsided. -For they had just seen the men of the other watch assembling at the -order of their officer and lining up in the stern, as if for an -inspection. They guessed why and drew near. - -A long new plank had been placed crosswise on the nettings, overhanging, -making a kind of see-saw over the water, and a sinister thing which -seemed very heavy, a sheath of grey canvas which betrayed a human form, -had just been brought up from below. - -When Barazère was laid on the long new plank, suspended in mid air over -the foaming waves, the bonnets of the sailors were all removed in a last -salute; a signalman recited a prayer, hands made the sign of the -cross--and then, at my command, the plank was tilted and there came the -dull sound of a heavy thing plunging into the water. - -The _Primauguet_ passed on its way, and the body of Barazère sank into -the abyss, immense in depth and extent, of the great ocean. - -Then, very softly, as a reproach, I repeated to Yves who was near me, -the phrase of the night before: - -"It is with men as with beasts: more will come, but . . ." - -"Oh!" he replied; "it was not I who said that; it was he." (_He_--that -is to say, Barrada--heard him and turned his head towards us. There were -tears in his eyes.) - -We looked behind us with uneasiness, at the wake; for it happens -sometimes, when the following shark is there, that a stain of blood -appears on the surface of the sea. - -But no, there was nothing; he had descended in peace into the depths -below. - -An infinite descent, first rapid as in a fall; then slow, slow, petering -out little by little in the ever-increasing density of the deeper -waters. A mysterious journey of many leagues into unplumbed abysms; -during which the darkened sun shows first like a pale moon, then turns -green, then trembles, and finally is effaced. And then the eternal -darkness begins; the waters rise, rise, gathering over the head of the -dead traveller like the waters of a deluge which should reach up to the -stars. - -But, below, the dead body has lost its loathsomeness; matter is never -unclean in an absolute sense. In the darkness the invisible animals of -the deep waters will come and encompass it; the mysterious madrepores -will put forth upon it their branches, eating it very slowly with the -thousand little mouths of their living flowers. - -This grave of sailors cannot be violated by any human hand. He who has -descended to sleep below is more dead than any other dead man; nothing -of him will ever appear again; never will he mingle with that old dust -of men which, on the surface of the earth, is for ever seeking to -recombine in an eternal effort to live again. He belongs to the life of -the world below; he is going to pass into plants of colourless stone, -into sluggish animals which are without shape and without eyes. . . . - - - - -CHAPTER XCI - - -On the evening of the burial of Barazère, Yves had brought his friend -Jean Barrada with him to my room. They were now the only survivors of -the old band: Kerboul, Le Hello, had been sleeping for many a long day -at the bottom of the sea, to which they too had descended in the -fullness of youth; the others had left to join the merchant service, or -had returned to their villages: all were scattered. - -Yves and Barrada were very old friends. On shore, when they were -together, it was not good to cross them in their whims. - -I can still see the two of them sitting there before me, sharing the -same chair on account of the limited space of the room, holding on with -one hand in the habit learnt from the rolling of the ship, and looking -at me with attentive eyes. For I was endeavouring to prove to them on -this evening that _it was not with men as with beasts_, and to speak to -them of the mysterious _beyond_. . . . And they, with Barazère's death -fresh in their memory, were listening to me surprised, fascinated, in -the midst of that very special peacefulness of calm evenings at sea, a -peacefulness which predisposes to the comprehension of the -incomprehensible. - -Old arguments repeated over and over again at school which I developed -to them and which it seemed to me might still make an impression on -their young minds. . . . It was perhaps very stupid, this discourse on -immortality; but it did them no harm; on the contrary. - - - - -CHAPTER XCII - - -These seas in which the _Primauguet_ was were almost always of the same -lapis blue; it was the region of the trade winds and of fine weather -without an end. - -Sometimes, in our passage from one group of islands to another, we had -to cross the Equator, to pass through the motionless immensities and -mournful splendours. - -And afterwards, when, in one hemisphere or the other, we ran into the -life-giving trade wind again, when the awakened _Primauguet_ began once -more to gather speed, then one realized better, by contrast, the charm -of moving quickly, the charm of being on this great, inclined, quivering -thing which seemed to be alive, and which obeyed you, alert and supple, -as it sped onwards. - -When we sailed eastward in these regions of the trade winds, we sailed -close to the wind; and then the _Primauguet_ rushed upon the regular, -crisped waves of the tropics for whole days, without ever getting tired, -with little joyous flutterings such as sportive fishes might have. - -Afterwards, when we returned on our course, with the wind behind us, -fully rigged, every inch of our white canvas spread, our progress, rapid -as it was, became so easy, so effortless, that we no longer felt that we -were moving; we were lifted up as it were in a kind of flight and our -movement was like the soaring of a bird. - -As far as the sailors were concerned one day was very much like another. - -Every morning there was first of all a kind of frenzy of cleaning which -began with the réveillé. One saw them, half-awake, jump up and start -running to commence as quickly as might be the great diurnal washing. -Naked, in their pompomed bonnets, or maybe wearing a "tricot de combat" -(a little knitted thing for the neck, not unlike a baby's bib) they set -to work to swill the deck. Water spurted from hosepipes; water was flung -by hand from buckets. Wasting no time they threw it over legs and over -backs until they were all besplashed, all streaming; they overturned -everything in order to wash everything; afterwards, scouring the deck, -already clean and white, with mops and scrapers to make it cleaner and -whiter still. - -Sometimes they would be ordered to break off and go aloft to make some -alteration in the rigging, to shake out a reef or trim the sails; then -they would dress themselves hastily, for decency's sake, before -climbing, and quickly carry out the manœuvre ordered, eager to get down -again and amuse themselves in the water. - -This is the work which makes arms strong and chests round; and the feet, -too, from being used to climbing bare, become in some measure -prehensile, like those of monkeys. - -At about eight o'clock, at the roll of a drum, the washing would be -done. Then, while the hot sun was quickly drying all these things which -they had made wet, they would begin to furbish; the copper-work, the -iron-work, even the ordinary rings were made to shine like mirrors. Each -one would address himself to the little pulley, the little object, the -toilet of which had been specially entrusted to him and would polish it -with solicitude, stepping back every now and then with a critical air to -see how it looked, to see whether it did him credit. And, around these -great children, was still and always the blue circle, the inexorable -blue circle, the resplendent solitude, profound, having no end, where -nothing ever changed and nothing ever passed. - -Nothing passed save the madcap bands of flying fish, moving like arrows, -so rapidly that one had time only to see the glistening of their wings -and they were gone. They were of several kinds; some large, which were -steel-blue in colour; some smaller and rarer which seemed to have -colours of mauve and peony; they surprised you by their rosy flight, -and, when you tried to distinguish them, it was too late; a little patch -of water eddied still and sparkled in the sunshine as if under a hail of -bullets; it was there they had made their plunge, but they were no -longer there. - -Sometimes a frigate bird--a great mysterious bird which is always -alone--crossed, at a great height, the regions of the air, flying -straight with its narrow wings and scissor-like tail, hastening as if it -had a goal. Then the sailors pointed out to one another the strange -traveller, following it with their eyes as long as it remained in sight, -and its passage was recorded in the ship's log. - -But a ship, never; they are too large, these southern seas; there are no -meetings there. - -Once, however, we came across a little oceanic island surrounded by a -white belt of coral. Some women who dwelt there approached in canoes, -and the captain allowed them to clamber on board, guessing why they had -come. They all had admirable figures, eyes of true savages, scarcely -opened and fringed with very heavy lashes, and teeth of wonderful -whiteness which their laugh revealed to their whole extent. On their -skin, which was of the colour of reddish copper, were very complicated -tattooings resembling a network of blue lace. - -Their passage had broken for a day the continence which the sailors -preserved. And then the island, barely seen, had vanished with its white -beach and its green palms, a very little thing amid the immense desert -of the waters, and we thought of it no more. - -But there was no boredom on board. The days were quite adequately filled -with duties and amusements. - -At certain hours, on certain days fixed in advance, the sailors were -allowed to open the canvas sacks in which their treasures were stored -(it was known as "getting out the sacks"). Then they spread out all -their little belongings, which had been folded inside with a comical -care, and the deck of the _Primauguet_ took on all at once the -appearance of a bazaar. They opened their needle-work boxes, and sewed -little patches very neatly on holes in their clothes, which the -continual play of strong muscles soon wore out. There were some of them -who stripped to the skin and sat gravely mending their shirts; others, -who pressed their big collars in a rather extraordinary way (by sitting -on them for a long time); others who took from their writing cases poor -little faded yellow papers, bearing the postmarks of remote little -corners of Brittany or of the Basque country, and settled down to read: -they were letters from mothers, sisters, sweethearts, who dwelt in -villages at the other side of the earth. - -And, later on, at the sound of a particular whistle, which signified: -"Pack up the sacks!" all this disappeared as by enchantment, folded, -packed and re-consigned once more to the bottom of the hold, in the -numbered lockers which the terrible sergeants-at-arms came and locked -with little iron chains. - -Looking at them, one might have been deceived by their wise and patient -airs, if one had not known them better; seeing them so absorbed in these -occupations of little girls, in these unpackings of dolls, it was -impossible to imagine what these same young men might become capable of -once they were allowed on shore. - -There was only one hour of inevitable melancholy; it was when the -evening prayer had been said, when the Bretons had finished making the -sign of the cross and the sun had set: at that hour, assuredly, many of -them thought of home. - -Even in the regions of wonderful light, there is still that vague hour -between day and night, which brings always and everywhere a touch of -sadness; then one might see sailors' heads turned involuntarily in the -direction of that last band of light which persisted in the west, very -low, touching the line of the waters. - -A variegated band always; on the horizon there was first a dull red, -above, a little orange, above again, a little pale green, a trail of -phosphorescence, and then it merged with the dull greys above, with the -shades of darkness and obscurity. Some last reflections of a mournful -yellow lingered on the sea, which glistened still here and there before -taking on the neutral colours of night; this last oblique glance of day, -cast on the deserted depths, had something a little sinister, and, in -spite of oneself, there came a sense of desolation in the immensity of -the waters. It was the hour of secret revolts and wringing of hearts. It -was the hour when the sailors had the vague notion that their life was -strange and against nature, when they thought of their sequestrated and -wasted youth. Some far-off image of a woman passed before their eyes, -wreathed in a languishing charm, in a delectable sweetness. Or perhaps -there came to them, with a sudden trouble of the senses, a dream of some -senseless orgy of lust and alcohol, in which they would seek -compensation and appeasement when next they were let loose on -shore. . . . - -But, afterwards, came night itself, warm, full of stars, and the -fleeting impression was forgotten; and the sailors gathered in the bow -of the ship and, sitting or lying there, began to sing. - -There were some among the topmen who knew long and very pleasing songs, -the choruses of which were readily learnt by heart. And in the sonorous -silence of the night the voices sounded fine and vibrant. - -There was, too, an old petty officer who never tired of telling to a -certain attentive little circle interminable stories; stories of -adventures which had really happened once upon a time to some handsome -topmen whom amorous princesses had carried away to their castles. - -And still the _Primauguet_ sped on, tracing behind her, in the darkness, -a vague white trail which gradually disappeared like the trail of a -meteor. All night long she sped, without resting or sleeping; only, her -large wings lost at night their sea-gull whiteness and outlined then, in -fantastic shadow against the diffused light of the sky, the points and -scallops of a bat's wing. - -But speed on as she might, she was always in the middle of the same -great circle, which seemed eternally to reform, to widen and to follow -her. - -Sometimes this circle was dark and traced all round its clean-cut -inexorable line which stopped at the first stars in the sky. Sometimes -the immense contour was softened by mists which mingled sea and sky -together; and then it seemed as if we were sailing in a kind of -grey-blue globe, spangled with stars, and the wonder was that we never -encountered its fugitive walls. - -The expanse was full of the soft sounds of water; it rustled -continuously and to infinity, but in a restrained and almost silent -manner; it gave out a powerful, unseizable sound, such as might be made -by an orchestra of thousands of strings touched by bows very, very -lightly and with great mystery. - -At times, the southern stars shone out with surprising brilliancy; the -great nebulæ sparkled like a dust of mother-of-pearl, all the colours -of the night seemed to be illumined, in transparency, by strange lights. -One might have imagined oneself, at these moments, in a fairyland where -everything was lit up for some immense apotheosis; and one asked -oneself: "What is the meaning of all this splendour, what is going to -happen, what is the matter?" . . . But no, there was nothing, ever; it -was simply the region of the tropics and this was its way. There was -nothing but the deserted seas, and everlastingly the circular expanse, -absolutely empty. . . . - -These nights were indeed exquisite summer nights, mild, infinitely mild, -milder than the mildest of our nights of June. And they troubled a -little all these men, the eldest of whom was not yet thirty years of -age. - -The warm darkness brought thoughts of love which were not of their -seeking. There were moments when they came near to weakening again in a -troubling dream; they felt the need of opening their arms to some -desired human form, of clasping it with a strong and forceful infinite -tenderness. But no, no one, nothing. . . . It was necessary to pull -themselves together, to remain alone, to turn over on the hard planks of -the wooden deck, and to think of something else, to begin to sing again. -. . . And then the songs, merry or sad, rang out more strongly than -before, in the emptiness of the sea. - -Nevertheless it was very pleasant on this forecastle during these -evenings at sea. The fresh wind of the night blew in our faces, the -virgin breezes which had never passed over land, which bore no living -effluvium, which were without odour. Lying there, one lost little by -little all notion of time and place, all notion of everything but speed, -which is always a pleasing thing, even when you are without a goal and -know not whither you are going. - -They had no goal, these sailors, and they knew not whither they were -going. What did it matter anyhow since nowhere were they allowed to set -foot on shore? They were ignorant of the direction of this rapid course -and of the infinite extent of the solitudes in which they were; but it -amused them, nevertheless, to be going full speed ahead in the bluish -darkness, to feel that they were moving very rapidly. As they sang their -evening songs, their eyes were on the bowsprit, ever thrusting forward, -with its two little horns and shape of drawn cross bow, which leapt over -the sea, skimming the noisy waters in the lightsome fashion of a flying -fish. - - - - -CHAPTER XCIII - - -On the _Primauguet_, my dear Yves was above reproach, as he had promised -us. The officers treated him with a rather special consideration on -account of his general bearing and manner which were no longer those of -the others. But he remained, nevertheless, in the first rank of that -hardy band of which the chief boatswain said with pride: - -"It is half shark; it knows no fear." - -He had resumed his old-time habit of coming, silent-footed, to my room -in the evening, in the hours when I abandoned it to him. He would settle -down to read my letters and my papers, knowing well that he was at -liberty to look at them all; he learnt to understand the marine charts, -and amused himself by marking points on them and measuring distances. -Very often he used to write to his wife, and it happened that his little -letters, interrupted by a call aloft, remained mixed with my papers. I -found one one day which was intended no doubt to be placed in a second -envelope and on which he had put this quaint address: - - -"To Madame Marie Kermadec, c/o her parents, at Trémeulé in Toulven, -Country of Brittany, Commune of Wolves, Parish of Squirrels, on the -right, under the largest oak." - - -It was hard to imagine my great big Yves writing these childish things. - -This was his first long absence since his marriage. Half a world away, -he fell to thinking much of his young wife who already had suffered so -sorely on his account and who had loved him so well; she appeared to him -now, at this great distance, under a new aspect. - - - - -CHAPTER XCIV - - -In July--the worst month of the southern winter--we left the region of -the trade winds and made our way to Valparaiso. - -There, I was due to leave the _Primauguet_ and to embark on a large -sailing ship which was returning to Brest after a tour round the world. - -It was called the _Navarin_; all the men of our ship who had finished -their term of service were embarking on it also: among others, Barrada, -who was going to Bordeaux, with his belt lined with gold, to marry his -little Spanish sweetheart. - -Very abruptly, as always, I said good-bye to Yves, recommending him once -more to all, and left for France by way of Cape Horn. - - - - -CHAPTER XCV - - -20_th October_, 1882. - - -I remember very well this day passed in Brittany. We three, under the -grey sky, roaming the woods of Toulven, Marie, Anne and I. - -My eyes still dazzled by sun and blue sea, and this Brittany, seen again -so quickly and so suddenly for a few brief hours, absolutely as in the -dreams we had of it at sea. . . . It seemed to me that I understood its -charm for the first time. - -And Yves was at the other side of the world, in the great ocean. How -strange it was to feel that he was so far away and that I was here -without him in these Toulven lanes! - -We rushed about, all three, like people possessed, in the green lanes, -under the grey sky, the large coifs of Marie and Anne blown back by the -wind. For night was closing in and we wanted during this last hour to -gather the harvest of ferns and heather, which, on the following -morning, I was going to carry off to Paris. Oh! these departures, always -coming too soon, changing everything, casting a sadness over the things -you are about to leave, and plunging you afterwards into the unknown! - -This time again, there was the pervading melancholy of the late autumn: -the air was still mild, the verdure admirable, with almost the intense -green of the tropics, but the Breton sky was there, grey and sombre, and -already the savour of dead leaves and of winter. . . . - -We had left little Pierre in the house so that we might walk more -quickly. On our way we picked the last foxgloves, the last red silenes, -the last scabious. - -In the sunken lanes, in the green darkness, we passed long-haired old -men, and women in cloth bodices embroidered with rows of eyes. - -There were mysterious crossways in the woods. In the distance one could -see the wooded hills ranged in monotonous lines, the unchanging ageless -horizon of the country of Toulven, the same horizon as the Celts must -have seen, the farthest planes losing themselves in the grey -obscurities, in bluish tones tending to black. - -And with what pleasure I had greeted my little Pierre, as I came along -this road of Toulven! I had seen the little fellow in the distance and -failed to recognize him; and he had run to meet me, skipping like a -young goat. They had told him: "That is your godfather coming yonder," -and he had rushed off at once. He had grown and improved in looks and -had a more enterprising not to say boisterous air. - -It was at this visit I saw for the first and last time little Yvonne, -Yves' little daughter who was born after our departure, and who made on -this earth only a brief appearance of a few months. She was very like -him; the same eyes, the same expression. It was strange to see this -resemblance of a small girl-baby to a man. - -One day she returned to the mysterious regions whence she had come, -called away suddenly by a childish malady, which neither the old nurse -nor the learned woman brought in from Toulven had understood. And they -laid her in the churchyard, the eyes that were so like Yves' closed for -ever. - -We had spent in the woods our two hours of daylight. It was not until -after supper that Marie and I went to see, in the moonlight, what was to -be their new home. - -On the site of the oat field which we had measured in June of the -preceding year stood now the four walls of Yves' house; it had yet no -shutters, no floor, no roof, and, in the moonlight, looked like a ruin. - -We sat down on some stones inside, alone together for the first time. - -It was of Yves we talked, needless to say. She asked me anxiously about -him, about his future, imagining that I knew better than she this -husband whom she adored with a kind of fear, without understanding him. -And I reassured her, for I was very hopeful: the sea-rover had a good -and honest heart; and if we could touch him there, we ought in the end -to succeed. - -Anne appeared suddenly, having approached noiselessly in order to -startle us: - -"Oh, Marie!" she said, "move away quickly! See what an ugly shadow you -are making behind you!" - -We had not noticed it, but in the moonlight her head, with the wings of -her coif moving in the wind, cast behind her, on the new wall, a shadow -in the form of a very large and very ugly bat. It was enough to bring us -misfortune. - -In Toulven there was a music of bagpipes. To reach the inn, to which -they were both escorting me, we had to pass through an unexpected fête, -going on in the moonlight. It was the wedding of a well-to-do couple and -there was dancing in the open, on the square. I stopped, with Anne and -Marie, to watch the long chain of the gavotte whirl and pass, led by the -shrill voice of the pipes. The full moon made whiter the coifs of the -women which flitted past us as if carried away by wind and speed; on the -breasts of the men we caught the fleeting glitter of embroidered gorgets -and silver spangles. - -At the farther end of Toulven we came upon another concourse. It did not -seem natural, this animation in the village, at night; more coifs again, -hurrying, pressing forward in order to get a better view; for a band of -pilgrims was returning from Lourdes. They entered the village singing -hymns. - -"There have been two miracles, sir; we heard so this morning by -telegraph." - -I turned round and saw that it was Pierre Kerbras, Anne's sweetheart, -who vouchsafed us this information. - -The pilgrims passed, their large rosaries about their necks; behind came -two infirm old women, who, for their part, had not been cured, and who -were being carried in men's arms. - -The following morning old Corentin, Anne and little Pierre, in their -Sunday clothes, accompanied me in Pierre Kerbras' wagonette to the -station at Bannalec. - -In the compartment I entered two English women were already installed. - -Little Pierre, his happy face the colour of a ripe peach, was lifted up -to the carriage window to kiss me good-bye, and he burst out laughing at -the sight of a little bulldog which the women carried in their blazoned -travelling-bag. He was sorry enough that I was going away; but this -little dog in the bag seemed to him so comical that he could not get -over it. And the old ladies smiled also, and said that little Pierre was -"a very beautiful baby." - -And this was the last of Brittany for a long time; I had spent some -twenty hours there, and, on the following morning, it was already far -away from me. - - - - -CHAPTER XCVI - - -_A Letter from Yves_ - - -"MELBOURNE, _September_, 1882. - - -"DEAR BROTHER,--I write to let you know we have reached Australia; we -have had a very fine voyage and to-morrow we are to leave for Japan; -for, you know, we have had instructions to pay a visit to that country. - -"I found here two letters from you and two also from my wife; but I am -looking forward to the one you will write me when you have been to -Toulven. - -"Dear brother, your successor on board is just like you; he is very -considerate with the sailors. As regards Mr. Plunkett's successor, he is -rather severe, but not with me; on the contrary. Mr. Plunkett told me he -would recommend me to him when he left and I think he must have done so. -The others and the second-in-command are still the same; they often -speak to me of you and ask me for news of you. - -"The captain has called upon me to act as boatswain since we buried poor -Marsano, of Nice, who was found dead one morning in his hammock at the -réveillé. And I like the work very much. - -"Dear brother, the men have twice been allowed to go ashore, at San -Francisco, and you will be glad to know that, with you away, I have not -even given in my name to go with them. As a matter of fact, on the -second night, the topmen had a great row with some Germans, and knives -were used. - -"I have also to tell you, dear brother, that your name has not yet been -removed from above the door of your room, and I think it must have been -quite forgotten. And in the evening I make my way along the spar-deck -for the pleasure of seeing it. - -"Next year, when we return, I hope I may have a long leave to go and see -my wife and my little Pierre and my little daughter; but it will be all -too short in any case, and I shall never have any real leisure until I -get my pension. On the other hand, when I am old enough to put aside the -blue collar, my little Pierre will be thinking of going to sea himself -in his turn; or perhaps there will be a place for me a little farther -away, in the direction of the pond, near the church; you know what place -I mean. - -"Dear brother, you think I am taking my note from you? But no, I think -as I have always thought. - -"As for the 'coco-nut heads'[6] I fear I must give up all idea of them, -for we shall not touch Caledonia; but perhaps, later on, I may be able -to return and buy some. If you should pass by the Gulf of Juan, you -would give me great pleasure if you would go to Vallauris and obtain for -me two of those candlesticks which they make there, and which have owls' -heads on them (the _parrots of France_, you know). I should like very -much to have some in my home. I am very eager, brother, to furnish my -little house. - -"Among the many things which make me sad when I awaken in the morning, -that which grieves me most is the thought that my mother cannot be -persuaded to come and live at Toulven. It seems to me that if I could -get leave and go to see her, I should certainly be able to induce her to -come. But, against this, I should then have no one belonging to me at -Plouherzel; and that again is a thing I cannot bear to contemplate; for -after all Plouherzel is our home, you know. If I could believe what you -have often told me on the subject of a life after death, then, -assuredly, I could still be contented enough. But it seems to me that -you yourself do not believe very much in it. Funnily enough, though, I -am afraid of ghosts, and I rather think, brother, that you are afraid of -them, too. - -"I ask you to forgive these dirty sheets I am sending you, but it is not -altogether my fault that they are in this condition. As you know I no -longer have your desk now to write my letters on like an officer. I was -writing to you peacefully enough at the end of my night watch on the -lockers in the bow, when the idiot Le Hir came and knocked over my -candle. I have not time to copy out my letter neatly as sometimes I do, -in the way you have praised. I am writing hurriedly and I ask you to -forgive the hasty scrawl. - -"We are leaving at daybreak to-morrow for Japan; but I will send my -letter by the pilot who is coming to take us out. - -"Your affectionate brother, - -"YVES KERMADEC. - - -"Dear brother, I cannot tell you how much I love you." - - -[Footnote 6: Very ugly human heads made by the convicts in Caledonia out -of coco-nuts, in which they fix eyes and teeth and hair. Yves wanted -them for his staircase at Toulven.] - - - - -CHAPTER XCVII - - -_December_, 1882. - - -I was walking on the quay at Bordeaux. A very smart person came up to -me, hat doffed, holding out his hand: Barrada! A Barrada transformed, -having shed his beard and his one-and-thirty years at the same time, no -doubt, as he laid aside his blue collar, with cheeks carefully shaved, a -budding moustache, and the air of a young lover of twenty. - -The old distinction and beauty of line were still there, but his face -now was happier and kinder, as if brightened by a deep joy. - -He had married at last his little Spanish sweetheart. The gold he used -to carry in his belt had furnished their home; and he had found -occupation as a stevedore, a very lucrative calling, it seems, in which -he could use to perfection his great strength and instinctive -"handiness." He made me promise solemnly that on the return of the -_Primauguet_ I would call at Bordeaux with Yves and come and see him. - -He, at any rate, was happy! - -And the end of this wanderer over the sea made me think. I asked myself -whether my poor Yves, who, with a heart as good, had offended far less -against the laws of decent society, might not also find one day a little -happiness. . . . - - - - -CHAPTER XCVIII - - -_Telegram_: "Toulon, 3rd April, 1883.--To Yves Kermadec, on board the -_Primauguet_, Brest. You have been appointed mate. All good wishes. - - -"PIERRE." - - -It was his joyous welcome, his home-coming feast, for, only twenty-four -hours before, the _Primauguet_, returned from its distant cruise in the -Pacific, had come to anchor in the waters of France. - -And these golden stripes which I sent to Yves by telegraph, he did not -water them, as he had watered formerly his stripes of wool. No, times -had changed; he took refuge in the spar-deck, in the corner where his -sack and locker were, which he regarded as his little home; he hurried -down to this quiet spot in order that he might be alone to contemplate -this happiness which had come to him, to read and read again this -blessed little blue paper which had opened before him an entirely new -era. - -It was so wonderful, so unexpected, after his past bad conduct! - -I had been to Paris to ask this favour, intriguing hard for my adopted -brother, and making myself answerable for his future conduct. A woman -friend had been good enough to exert in my cause her very powerful -influence, and, with her help, the promotion of Yves was carried by -assault, difficult though it was. - -And Yves could not cease from contemplating his good fortune in all its -aspects. . . . First, instead of asking for a short leave which might -perhaps have been given to him very grudgingly, now, with his gold -stripes he could depart straightway for Toulven; he would be put on the -reserve list for three months at least, perhaps for four; he would have -the whole summer to spend with his wife and son, in the little house -which was now completed, and where they were only waiting for him to -enter into occupation. . . . And secondly, they were quite rich, which -was by no means a drawback. . . . - -Never in the life of this poor wandering toiler had there come an hour -so happy, a joy so deep as that which his brother Pierre had just sent -him by telegraph. . . . - - - - -CHAPTER XCIX - - -When the winds brought me back to Brittany again, it was in the last -days of May, when the Breton spring was at its fairest. - -Yves had already been six weeks in his little house at Toulven, -arranging my room, and preparing everything for my arrival. - -The ship on which I had embarked had left the Mediterranean and was -going north in the Atlantic, bound for the northern ports and Brest -where it was to be laid up. - -18_th May, at sea._ Already one feels that Brittany is near. It is fine -still, but the day is one of those fine Breton days which are calm and -melancholy. The smooth sea is of a pale blue, the salt air is fresh and -smells of seaweed; over everything there is a veil of bluish mist, very -transparent and very tenuous. - -At eight o'clock in the morning we round the point of Penmarc'h. The -Celtic rocks, the tall sad cliffs become visible little by little and -draw nearer. - -Now there are real banks of mist--but very light still, summer -mists--which rest everywhere on the distances of the horizon. - -At one o'clock, the channel of the Toulinguets, and then we enter Brest. - -19_th May._ Eight days' leave. At midday I am in the train, on my way to -Toulven. - -Rain all the way over the Breton countryside. The meadows, the shady -valleys are full of water. - -From Bannalec to Toulven is an hour's drive through the woods. With my -eyes fixed in front of me I watch for the granite steeple of the church -in the distance of the green horizon. - -And now it appears reflected deep below in the mournful pool. The -weather has cleared and the sky is blue again, a pale blue. - -Toulven! . . . The diligence stops. Yves is there waiting for me, -holding little Pierre by the hand. - -We look at each other--and our first impulse is to laugh, on account of -our moustaches. Our faces are altered, and we seem odd to each other. We -had not seen each other since permission had been given to sailors to -leave the upper lip unshaved. Yves expressed the opinion that it made us -look much more knowing. - -Then we shook hands. - -And what a fine little fellow Pierre has become! So tall, so strong! We -set off together, going through Toulven, where the good folk know me and -come to their doors to watch us pass. We make our way through the narrow -grey street, between the ancient houses, between the walls of massive -granite. I recognize the old woman with the owl-like profile who -presided at the birth of my godson; she nods to me from an open window. -The large coifs, the collarettes, the spangles on the bodices, stand -out, in the deep embrasures against the dark backgrounds, and the -impression I receive as I pass by is one peculiar to Brittany, of olden -times, of days remote and dead. - -Little Pierre, whose hands we hold, walks now like a man. He had said -nothing at first, a little overcome at seeing me again, but presently he -begins to talk; upturning towards me his round face he looks at me as at -a friend with whom he may share his thoughts, and a sweet small voice -with which I am not yet very familiar pipes out with a strong Breton -accent: - -"Godfather, have you brought me my sheep?" - -Fortunately I had remembered my promise of a year ago; this sheep on -wheels for little Pierre is in my trunk. And I have brought also some -candlesticks with owls' heads on them (heads of the _parrots of France_) -which I had promised to my other baby--Yves. - -And here is the house, gay and white and new, with its Breton window -frames, its green shutters, its attic store-room, and, behind, the -horizon of the woods. - -We enter. Below in the open-hearthed kitchen, Marie and little Corentine -are waiting for us. - -But, immediately, Yves hurries me away, impatient that I should see -their handsome white room upstairs, with its muslin curtains and its -cherry wood furniture. - -And then he opens another door. - -"And now, brother, you are in your own room?" - -And he looks at me, anxious to see the effect produced, after all the -pains his wife and he have taken to ensure that I should find everything -to my taste. - -I enter, touched, moved. It is all white, my room, and filled with a -delicious fragrance. There are flowers everywhere, flowers which they -have gone very far to find for me; in vases on the mantelpiece, bunches -of mignonette and large bouquets of sweetpeas; in the fireplace, a mass -of heather. - -But they could not bring themselves to put in my room the old furniture, -the old Breton odds and ends, and they excused themselves saying they -had found nothing that seemed to them nice enough and suitable enough; -and so they had gone to Quimper and bought me a bed like their own, in -cherry wood, a light wood, bright and slightly reddish in colour. The -tables and chairs are of the same wood. The smallest details have been -arranged with tender thought; on the walls, in gilt frames, are drawings -which I had made in earlier days and a large photograph of the tower of -Saint Pol-de-Léon, which I had given Yves at the time when we were -together in the misty waters of the North. - -The boards of the floor are as clean as newly-sawn wood. - -"You see, brother, everything is as spotless as on board," says Yves, -who himself has taken the greatest pains to make it so, and who removes -his shoes whenever he goes up so that he may not dirty the stairs. - -And I must see everything, go everywhere, even into the store-room where -the potatoes are laid by, and the logs of wood for the winter; even into -the little vestibule of the staircase where is suspended, like the -_ex-voto_ of a sailor in a chapel of the Virgin, a miniature ship which -Yves had made during his spare time in the crow's nest of the -_Primauguet_; and finally into the garden where the strawberries and -various green things are beginning to push up their fresh shoots in long -neat rows. - -Now we sit down at the table, Yves, Marie, little Corentine, little -Pierre and I, round the spotless white cloth on which the dinner has -been placed. And Yves, my brother Yves, becomes self-conscious and -nervous all at once in his rôle of master of the house. And so it is I -who have to carve, and, as it is the first time in my life, I get a -little confused too. - -At this dinner, I eat to please them; but this great happiness which I -feel here near me and of which in some small measure I am the cause, -this deep gratitude which surrounds me, all this moves me very -strangely. To be in the midst of these rare things brings me the -surprise of a new, delightful experience. - -"You know," Yves says to me, low as if in confidence, "I go with her to -mass now every Sunday." - -And he makes in the direction of his wife a little grimace of childlike -submission, very comical to see in one so serious. But his manner with -Marie has quite changed, and I saw as soon as I entered that love had -come at last to make its home for good and all in the new house. And my -dear friends, therefore, have attained all that is best on earth. As -Yves said "All that was wanted now was that the pendulum of time should -stop so that this great happiness of their fulfilled dreams might never -leave them." - -They also are silent in their happiness, as if they feared they might -frighten it away if they spoke too loud or too lightheartedly about it. - -Besides we have to speak of the dead, of that little Yvonne who departed -last autumn without waiting for the return of the _Primauguet_ and whom -Yves never saw; of old Corentin, her grandfather, who had found the cold -weather of December too much for him. - -It is Marie who speaks: - -"He became very difficult towards the end, he who had always been so -considerate. He said we did not know how to look after him, and he asked -continually for his son Yves: 'Oh! if Yves were here he would help me; -he would lift me in his strong arms and turn me over in my bed.' On the -last night he called him without ceasing." - -And Yves replied: - -"What grieves me most when I think of our father, is that we were a -little angry with each other on the day I went away, in connection with -the settlement, you know. You cannot believe how often the recollection -of that dispute with him comes into my mind." - -Dinner is finished. It is evening, the long mild evening of May. We are -walking, Yves and I, towards the church, to pay a visit to a white cross -which stands there on a little flower-decked mound: - - -_Yvonne Kermadec, thirteen months._ - - -"They say that she was very like me," says Yves. - -And this resemblance of the dead infant to him makes him very -thoughtful. - -As we look at the cross, the mound and the flowers, we both think of -this mystery: a little baby girl who was of his blood, his issue, who -had his eyes, and . . . probably, too, his nature, and who was given -back so soon to the Breton earth. It is as if something of himself had -already gone from him to mingle with the dust; it was like an -earnest-money which he had already given to eternal nothingness. . . . - -In four years, this little cross which may be seen now from the -distance, will exist no longer; Yvonne and her mound and her flowers -will be swept away. Even her little bones will be gathered up and mixed -with the others, the bones of those long dead, under the church, in the -ossuary. - -For four years still the cross will remain, and those who pass may read -this name of a little child. . . . - -It stands on the edge of the pond. It is reflected in the deep, stagnant -water, by the side of the tall grey steeple. On the mound the blooming -carnations make white tufts, already indistinct in the oncoming -darkness. The pond is like a mirror, pale yellow, of the colour of the -dying daylight, of the sunset sky; and, all round, is the line, already -dark, of the woods. - -The flowers of the tombs give out their soft perfumes of the evening. A -mild stillness surrounds us and seems to close in upon us. . . . - -In the distance we hear the hooting of the owls, and we cannot -distinguish now little Yvonne's white carnations. . . . The summer night -has come. - -Suddenly a loud noise startles us, amid this silence in which we were -thinking of the dead. It is the Angelus sounding, very close, above us, -in the steeple; and the air is filled with the deep vibrations of the -bell. - -Yet we had seen no one enter the church which is shut and dark. - -"Who is ringing?" asks Yves anxiously. "Who can be ringing? I would not -do it, ever. . . . I would not enter the church at this hour, not even -for all the gold in the world!" - -. . . We leave the cemetery; there is too much noise and the Angelus -sounds strange there; it awakens unexpected echoes, in the waters of the -pond, in the enclosure of the dead, in the darkness. Not that we are -afraid of the poor little tomb with the white carnations; but there are -the others, these mounds of turf which are all about us, these graves of -men and women unknown. . . . - -_Ten o'clock._ I am going to sleep for the first time under the roof of -my brother Yves. - -_Later._ We have already said good night, but he returns and opens my -door. - -"The flowers. They may not be good for you; it has just occurred to us. -. . ." - -And he takes them all away, the mignonette, the sweetpeas, even the -bunches of heather. - - - - -CHAPTER C - - -The "pendulum of time" has continued its swing. It even seems that it -has moved more quickly than usual, for the week's leave which had been -given me is almost over. - -Every day we spend in the woods. The weather is splendid. The heather, -the foxgloves, the red silenes, all are in flower. - -There had been a great "pardon" on Sunday, one of the most famous of -this region of Brittany: it was held near the chapel of _Our Lady of -Good Tidings_--which stands alone in the heart of the woods as if it had -been sleeping there, forgotten, since the middle ages. - -It happened that the day before, the Saturday, we had sat down in the -shade, Yves, little Pierre and I, near the church, in the hour of the -great calm of noon. A very silent spot, above which the ancient oaks and -beeches linked, as if they had been arms, their great moss-grown -branches. - -Two women had come, one young, the other old and decrepit; they wore the -costume of Rosporden and seemed to have travelled far. They carried -large keys. - -And they opened the old sanctuary, which remains closed throughout the -year, and began to prepare the altar for the feast of the following day. - -In the green half-light of the windows and the trees, we saw them -busying themselves about the statues of the old saints, dusting them, -wiping them; and then sweeping the flagstones covered with dust and -saltpetre. - -At the foot of Our Lady someone, out of piety, had placed a skull, -found, no doubt, in the earth of the wood. Greenish-looking, the cranium -staved in, it gazed at us from the bottom of the chapel, with its two -black eye sockets. - -"Tell me, godfather, what is that? . . . Did someone find that face in -the earth? . . ." - -Little Pierre is vaguely disturbed by this thing, the like of which he -had never seen; as if it was for him the first revelation of an order of -sinister objects dwelling under the earth. . . . - -The weather, for this day of pardon, was a little dull, but delightful -nevertheless. - -For ten hours, the bagpipes played in front of the chapel, under the -great oaks, and gavottes were danced on the mossy turf. - -That indescribable quality of Breton summers, which is somehow -melancholy, is, if one may so express it, a compound of many things: the -charm of the long, warm days, rarer here than elsewhere and sooner over; -the tall-growing herbage fresh and green, with the extreme profusion of -red flowers; and then the sentiment of olden times, which seems to -slumber here, to permeate everything. - -Old land of Toulven, great woods where the black fir trees, trees of the -north, mingle already with the oaks and beeches; Breton countrysides, -which seem to be wrapt still in the past. . . . - -Great rocks covered with grey lichen, as fine as an old man's beard; -plains in which the granite crops out of the ancient soil, plains of -purple heather. . . . - -They are impressions of tranquillity, of appeasement, which this country -brings me; and also an aspiration towards a more complete repose under -the mossy turf, at the foot of the chapels which are in the woods. And, -with Yves, all this is vaguer, more inexpressible, but more intense -also, as with me when I was a child. - -To see us sitting together in the woods in the calm of these fine summer -days, one would never imagine what our youth had been, what life we had -lived, nor what terrible scenes there had been between us formerly, when -first our two natures, very different and very alike, had come in -conflict one with the other. - -Every evening before we go to bed, we play with little Pierre a Toulven -game, amusing enough, which consists in holding one another by the chin -and reciting, without laughing, a long rigmarole: "By the beard of -Minette I hold you. The first of us two who shall laugh . . . etc." At -this game little Pierre is always caught. - -After that come the gymnastics. Yves goes through the performance with -his son, turning him over, making him "go about," head down, legs in the -air, at arm's length, then raising him very high. "Tell me, little -Pierre, when will you have arms like mine? Tell me! Oh, never; never -arms like yours, father; I shall not suffer hardship enough for that, I -am sure." - -And when Yves, dishevelled, tired from having romped so much, says, as -he readjusts his clothes, in his most serious way: "Now then, little -Pierre has finished his gymnastics for the present," little Pierre comes -to me with that smile which always gets for him what he wants: "It is -your turn, godfather; come!" And the gymnastics begin again. - - - - -CHAPTER CI - - -The pendulum of time, inexorable, swings on. In a few hours I shall have -to leave, and soon my brother Yves will depart also, both of us for -distant parts, for the unknown. - -It is the last day, the last evening. Yves, little Pierre and I are on -our way to the cottage of the old Keremenens, where I am to say good-bye -to grandmother Marianne. - -She lives alone, now, under her moss-grown roof, under the spreading -vault of the great oaks. Pierre Kerbras and Anne, who were married in -the spring, are building in the village a proper house in granite, like -that of Yves. All the children have departed. - -Poor little cottage in which the white coifs and collarettes moved about -so joyously on the day of the baptism! All that is over; now, the -cottage is empty and silent. We sit down on the old oak benches, resting -our elbows on the table on which the great baptismal feast was served. -The old grandmother is on a stool, spinning at her distaff, her head -bowed, looking already decrepit and forlorn. - -Although the sun is not yet very low, inside the cottage it is dark. - -Around us, none but old-fashioned things, poor and primitive. Large -rosaries are hung on the rough granite of the walls; in corners, lost in -shadow, one sees the oak logs amassed for the winter, and old household -utensils, blackened and dusty, in ancient and simple forms. - -Never had we realized so clearly that all this is of the past and far -from us. - -It is the old Brittany of an earlier time, almost dead. - -Through the chimney filters the light of the sky, green tones fall from -above on the stones of the hearth, and through the open door appears the -Breton lane, with a ray of the setting sun on the honeysuckle and the -ferns. - -We become dreamers, Yves and I, on this visit we have come to pay to the -dwelling of the grandparents. - -Besides, grandmother Marianne speaks only Breton. From time to time Yves -addresses her in this language of the past; she replies, smiles, seems -pleased to see us; but the conversation quickly flags and silence -returns. - -Vague melancholy of the evening, dreams of far-off days in this old -dwelling which soon will collapse by the roadside, which will fall into -ruin like its old inmates, and which no one will ever rebuild. - -Little Pierre is with us. He is very fond of this little cottage and of -this old grandmother, who spoils him with adoration. He loves especially -the little oaken cradle, a work of another century, in which he was put -when he was born. He is longer than his cradle now and uses it, sitting -within, as a see-saw, looking about him with his wide-open dark eyes. -And now his grandmother, stooping near him, her back bent under her -frilled collarette, begins to rock him herself to amuse him. And as she -rocks she sings, and he, every now and then, interrupts the quavering -notes with a burst of his child's laughter. - - -Boudoul galaïchen! boudoul galaïch du! - - -Sing, poor old woman, with your broken, trembling voice, sing the -ancient lullaby, the air which comes from the distant night of dead -generations, and which your grandchildren will no longer know! - - -Boudoul, boudoul! Galaïchen, galaïch du! - - -One expects to see gnomes and fairies descend by the wide chimney, with -the light that comes from above. - -Outside, the sun gilds stills the branches of the oaks, the honeysuckle -and the ferns. - -Inside, in the lonely cottage, all is mysterious and dark. - - -Boudoul, boudoul! Galaïchen, galaïch du! - - -Rock your little grandson, rock him still, old woman in white frilled -collar! Soon the Breton songs, and the old Bretons who sing them, will -be no more! - -And little Pierre joins his hands to say his evening prayer. - -Word for word, in a very sweet voice which has a strong Toulven accent, -he repeats, watching us the while, all that his grandmother knows of -French: - -"Oh God, and blessed Virgin Mary, and good Saint Anne, I pray to you for -my father, for my mother, for my godfather, for my grandparents, for my -little sister Yvonne. . . ." - -"For my Uncle Goulven who is far away at sea," adds Yves in a grave -voice. - -And still more solemnly: - -"For my grandmother at Plouherzel." - -"For my grandmother at Plouherzel," repeats little Pierre. - -And then he waits for something more to repeat, keeping his hands -joined. - -But Yves is almost in tears at the poignant recollection which has -suddenly come to him of his mother, of the cottage in which he was born, -of his village of Plouherzel, which his son scarcely knows and which he -himself will perhaps never see again. Life is like that for the children -of the coast, for sailors; they go away, the exigencies of their calling -separate them from beloved parents who scarcely know how to write to -them and whom afterwards they never see. - -I look at Yves, and, as we understand each other without speaking, I can -imagine very well what is passing in his mind. - -To-day he is happy beyond his dream, many sombre things have been -distanced and conquered, and yet, and yet . . . and afterwards? Here he -is now plunged suddenly into I know not what dream of past and future, -into a strange and unexpected melancholy! And afterwards? - - -Boudoul galaïchen! boudoul galaïch du! - - -sings the old woman, her back bent under her white frilled collar. - -And afterwards? . . . Only little Pierre is inclined to laugh. He turns -from one side to the other his vivacious head, bronzed and vigorous; -merriment, the flame of a life quite new are still in his large dark -eyes. - -And afterwards? . . . All is dark in the abandoned cottage; it seems as -if the objects there are talking mysteriously among themselves of the -past; night is closing in around us on the great woods. - -And afterwards? . . . Little Pierre will grow up and sail the seas, and -we, my brother, we shall pass away and all that we have loved with -us--our old mothers first--then everything and we ourselves, the old -mothers of the Breton cottages as those of the towns, and old Brittany -also, and everything, all the things of this world! - - -Boudoul galaïchen! boudoul galaïch du! - - -Night falls and a sadness unexpected, profound, weighs upon our hearts. -. . . And yet, to-day we are happy. - - - - -CHAPTER CII - - -And the Celts mourned three barren rocks, under a lowering sky, in the -heart of a gulf dotted with islets. - - -GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, SALAMMBÔ. - - -Yves and I take our departure, leaving little Pierre with his -grandmother. We follow the green lane, under the vault of oaks and -beeches, hearing in the distance, in the sonorousness of the evening, -the noise of the rocking of the ancient cradle and the old lullaby and -the outburst of child's laughter. - -Outside, there is still daylight; the sun, very low, gilds the tranquil -countryside. - -"Let us go as far as the chapel of Saint Eloi," says Yves. - -The chapel is on the top of the hill; very old it is, and corroded with -moss, bearded with lichen, alone always, closed and mysterious in the -midst of the woods. - -It opens but once in the year, for the "pardon" of the horses, which are -brought hither in great numbers, at the hour of a low mass which is said -here for them. This "pardon" was held quite recently and the grass is -still trodden down by the hoofs of the beasts which came. - -This evening there is a strange tranquillity round the chapel. The -wooded horizons, stretching out into the distance, are very peaceful, as -if they were about to fall asleep. It seems also that it might be the -evening of our own life, and that all that we had to do now was to rest -here for ever, watching the night descend on the Breton countrysides, to -let ourselves sink gently into this sleep of nature. - -"All the same," says Yves, very thoughtful, "I feel sure that it will be -to somewhere over there (_over there_ means Plouherzel) that I shall -return when I get old, so that they may lay me near Kergrist Chapel; you -know, where I showed you? Yes, I am sure I shall find my way there to -die." - -Kergrist Chapel, in the district of Goëlo, under a lowering sky; the -sea-water lake, and, in the middle, the granite islets, the great -squatting beast asleep on the grey plain. . . . I can see the place now, -as it appeared to me, many years ago already, on a winter's day. And I -remember that there is Yves' native land, there is the earth which -awaits him. When he is far away at sea, at night, in hours of danger, -there is the grave of which he dreams. - -"Yves, my dear brother, we are two great children, I assure you. Often -very merry when there is no cause, here now we are sad and talking -nonsense at a moment when peace and happiness by rare good fortune have -come to us. I doubt very much if the newness of the experience is -sufficient excuse. - -"For who to look at us would imagine we were capable of dreaming these -foolish things in our waking hours, simply because the night is falling -and there is stillness in the woods? - -"Think of it! We are neither of us more than thirty-two years old. -Before us yet there should be many more years of life, years that will -be filled with travel, with danger, with suffering. To each of us will -come sunshine, and beauty, and love . . . and, perhaps, who -knows?--between us there may be again scenes, rebellions, struggles!" - -In many fewer words than there are above all this crossed his dream. - -And he answered me with an air of sad reproach: - -"But you know well, brother, that I am altered now, and that there is -_one thing_ which is finished for ever. There is no need to speak to me of -that." - -And I grip the hand of my brother Yves trying to smile as one who had -completest confidence. - -The stories of real life ought to be able to be finished at will like -the stories in books. . . . - - - - -THE END - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Tale of Brittany, by Pierre Loti - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TALE OF BRITTANY *** - -***** This file should be named 62667-0.txt or 62667-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/6/6/62667/ - -Produced by Dagny and Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free -Literature (Images generously made available by Hathi -Trust.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: A Tale of Brittany - (Mon frère Yves) - -Author: Pierre Loti - -Translator: W. P. Baines - -Release Date: July 16, 2020 [EBook #62667] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TALE OF BRITTANY *** - - - - -Produced by Dagny and Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free -Literature (Images generously made available by Hathi -Trust.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/brittany_cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<h2>A TALE OF<br /> -BRITTANY</h2> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<img src="images/figure01.jpg" width="400" alt="" /> -</div> - -<h2>A TALE OF<br /> -BRITTANY</h2> - -<h3>(MON FRÈRE YVES)</h3> - -<h4>BY</h4> -<h3>PIERRE LOTI</h3> - -<h4>TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY<br /> -W. P. BAINES</h4> - - -<h5>NEW YORK<br /> -FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY<br /> -PUBLISHERS</h5> - - - - -<h4>CONTENTS</h4> -<p><a href="#CHAPTER_I">Chapter I</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_II">Chapter II</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_III">Chapter III</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">Chapter IV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_V">Chapter V</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">Chapter VI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">Chapter VII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">Chapter VIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">Chapter IX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_X">Chapter X</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">Chapter XI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">Chapter XII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">Chapter XIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">Chapter XIV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">Chapter XV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">Chapter XVI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">Chapter XVII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">Chapter XVIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">Chapter XIX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XX">Chapter XX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">Chapter XXI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">Chapter XXII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">Chapter XXIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">Chapter XXIV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">Chapter XXV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">Chapter XXVI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">Chapter XXVII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">Chapter XXVIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">Chapter XXIX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">Chapter XXX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">Chapter XXXI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">Chapter XXXII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">Chapter XXXIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">Chapter XXXIV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">Chapter XXXV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">Chapter XXXVI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">Chapter XXXVII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">Chapter XXXVIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">Chapter XXXIX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XL">Chapter XL</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">Chapter XLI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLII">Chapter XLII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLIII">Chapter XLIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLIV">Chapter XLIV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLV">Chapter XLV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLVI">Chapter XLVI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLVII">Chapter XLVII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLVIII">Chapter XLVIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLIX">Chapter XLIX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_L">Chapter L</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LI">Chapter LI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LII">Chapter LII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LIII">Chapter LIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LIV">Chapter LIV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LV">Chapter LV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LVI">Chapter LVI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LVII">Chapter LVII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LVIII">Chapter LVIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LIX">Chapter LIX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LX">Chapter LX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXI">Chapter LXI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXII">Chapter LXII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXIII">Chapter LXIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXIV">Chapter LXIV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXV">Chapter LXV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXVI">Chapter LXVI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXVII">Chapter LXVII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXVIII">Chapter LXVIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXIX">Chapter LXIX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXX">Chapter LXX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXXI">Chapter LXXI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXXII">Chapter LXXII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXXIII">Chapter LXXIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXXIV">Chapter LXXIV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXXV">Chapter LXXV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXXVI">Chapter LXXVI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXXVII">Chapter LXXVII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXXVIII">Chapter LXXVIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXXIX">Chapter LXXIX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXXX">Chapter LXXX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXXXI">Chapter LXXXI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXXXII">Chapter LXXXII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXXXIII">Chapter LXXXIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXXXIV">Chapter LXXXIV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXXXV">Chapter LXXXV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXXXVI">Chapter LXXXVI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXXXVII">Chapter LXXXVII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXXXVIII">Chapter LXXXVIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LXXXIX">Chapter LXXXIX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XC">Chapter XC</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XCI">Chapter XCI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XCII">Chapter XCII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XCIII">Chapter XCIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XCIV">Chapter XCIV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XCV">Chapter XCV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XCVI">Chapter XCVI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XCVII">Chapter XCVII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XCVIII">Chapter XCVIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XCIX">Chapter XCIX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_C">Chapter C</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_CI">Chapter CI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_CII">Chapter CII</a></p> - - - - -<h4>DEDICATION</h4> - - -<h3>To ALPHONSE DAUDET</h3> - - -<p>Here is a little tale which I wish to dedicate to you. Accept it, I -pray, with my affection.</p> - -<p>It has been urged against my books that there is always in them too much -of the trouble of love. This time there is only a little love and that -an honest love and it comes only towards the end.</p> - -<p>It was you who gave me the idea of writing the life story of a sailor -and of putting into it the immense monotony of the sea.</p> - -<p>It may be that this book will make me enemies, although I have touched -as lightly as possible on the regulations of the service. But you who -love everything connected with the sea, even the wind and the fog and -the great waves—yes, and the brave and simple sailors—you, assuredly, -will understand me. And in that I shall find my recompense.</p> - - -<p style="margin-left: 70%;">PIERRE LOTI.</p> - - - - -<h4>A TALE OF BRITTANY</h4> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></h4> - - -<p>The pay-book of my brother Yves differs in no wise from the pay-book of -all other sailors.</p> - -<p>It is covered with a yellow-coloured parchment paper and, as it has -travelled much about the sea, in many a ship's locker, it is absolutely -wanting in freshness.</p> - -<p>In large letters on the cover appears:</p> - - -<p class="center">KERMADEC, 2091. P.</p> - - -<p>Kermadec is his family name; 2091, his number in the army of the sea; -and P., the initial letter of Paimpol, the port at which he was -enrolled.</p> - -<p>Opening the book, one finds, on the first page, the following -description:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Kermadec (Yves-Marie), son of Yves-Marie and Jeanne Danveoch. Born 28 -August, 1851, at Saint Pol-de-Léon (Finistère). Height 5 ft. 11 -inches. Hair brown, eyebrows brown, eyes brown, nose ordinary, chin -ordinary, forehead ordinary, face oval.</p> - -<p>"Distinctive marks: tattooed on the left breast with an anchor and, on -the right wrist, with a bracelet in the form of a fish."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>These tattooings were still the fashion, some ten years ago, for your -true sailor. Executed on board the <i>Flore</i> by a friend in an hour of -idleness, they became an object of mortification for Yves, who many a -time had tortured himself in an effort to obliterate them. The idea that -he was marked in this indelible manner, and that he might be recognized -always and everywhere by these little blue designs was to him absolutely -insupportable.</p> - -<p>Turning over the page one comes across a series of printed leaves -setting out, in a clear and concise form, all the shortcomings to which -sailors are subject, with, opposite them, the tariff of the penalties -incurred—from insignificant irregularities which may be expiated by a -few nights in irons to the dire rebellions which are punished by death.</p> - -<p>Unhappily this quotidian reading has never sufficed to inspire the -salutary awe which it should, either in sailors in general, or in my -poor Yves in particular.</p> - -<p>Follow several pages of manuscript containing the names of ships, with -blue stamp impressions, figures and dates. The quartermasters, men of -taste as they are, have decorated this part of the book with elegant -flourishes. It is here that particulars of his voyages are set out and -details of the pay he has received.</p> - -<p>The first years, in which he earned fifteen francs a month, ten of which -he saved for his mother; years passed in the onrush of the wind, in -which he lived half naked at the top of those great oscillating shafts -which are the masts of ships; years in which he wandered without a care -in the world over the changing desert of the sea; then the more troubled -years in which love was born and took shape in the virgin and untutored -heart—to be translated into brutal orgies or into dreams naïvely pure -according to the hazard of the places to which the wind drove him, -according to the hazard of the women thrown into his arms; terrible -awakenings of the heart and senses, wild excesses, and then the return -to the ascetic life of the ocean, to the sequestration on the floating -monastery; all this may be divined behind these figures and these names -and dates which accumulate, year by year, in the poor little pay-book of -a sailor. A whole poem of strange adventures and sufferings lies within -its yellow pages.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></h4> - - -<p>The 28th of August, 1851, was, it seems, a fine summer's day at Saint -Pol-de-Léon, in Finistère.</p> - -<p>The pale sun of Brittany smiled and made festival for this little -newcomer, who later on was to love the sun so much, and to love Brittany -so much.</p> - -<p>Yves made his entrance into the world in the form of a large baby, very -round and very brown. The good women present at his arrival gave him the -name of <i>Bugel-Du</i>, which in English means: little black boy. This -bronzed colouring was, for that matter, characteristic of the family, -the Kermadecs from father to son, having been ocean-going sailors and -men deeply bitten by the tan of the sea.</p> - -<p>A fine summer's day in Saint Pol-de-Léon is a rare thing in this region -of fogs: a kind of melancholy radiance is shed over everything; the old -town of the Middle Ages is, as it were, awakened out of its mournful -slumber in the mist and made young again; the old granite warms itself -in the sun; the tower of Creizker, the giant of Breton towers, bathes in -the blue sky, in the full light, its delicate grey fretwork marbled with -yellow lichens. And all around is the wild moorland, with its pink -heather, its golden gorse, exhaling a soft perfume of flowering broom.</p> - -<p>At the baptism were a young girl, the godmother; a sailor, the -godfather; and, behind, the two little brothers, Goulven and Gildas, -holding by the hand the two little sisters, Yvonne and Marie, who -carried flowers.</p> - -<p>When the little company entered the old church of the bishops of Léon, -the verger, hanging on the rope of a bell, made ready to start the -joyous carillon called for by the occasion. But the Curé, coming on the -scene, said to him harshly:</p> - -<p>"Be quiet, Marie Bervrac'h, for the love of God! These Kermadecs are -people who never give anything to the Church, and the father wastes all -his substance in the tavern. We'll have no ringing, if you please, for -people of that sort."</p> - -<p>And that is how my brother Yves made his entrance into the world in the -guise of poverty.</p> - -<p>Jeanne Danveoch, from her bed, listened with uneasiness, waited with a -foreboding of ill, for the vibrations of the bell which were so slow to -begin. For a long time she listened and heard nothing. Then she -understood the public affront and wept.</p> - -<p>Her eyes were wet with tears when the party returned, crestfallen, to -the house.</p> - -<p>All his life this humiliation weighed upon the heart of Yves; he was -never able to forgive this unkind reception at his entrance into the -world, nor the cruel tears shed by his mother; and as a result he -preserved for the Roman clergy an unforgetting rancour and closed his -Breton heart to Our Mother the Church.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></h4> - - -<p>It was twenty-four years later, on an evening of December, at Brest.</p> - -<p>A fine rain was falling, cold, penetrating, continuous; it streamed down -the walls, rendering deeper in colour the high-pitched roofs of slate, -and the tall houses of granite; it watered with calm indifference the -noisy crowd of the Sunday, which swarmed nevertheless, wet and -bedraggled, in the narrow streets, beneath the mournful grey of the -twilight.</p> - -<p>This Sunday crowd consisted of inebriated sailors singing, of soldiers -who stumbled, making with their sabres a clatter of steel, of people of -the lower class adrift—workers of the town looking drawn and miserable; -women in little merino shawls and pointed muslin head-dresses, who -walked along with shining eyes and reddened cheek bones, exhaling an -odour of brandy; of old men and old women in a disgusting state of -drunkenness, who had fallen and been picked up, and were lurching -forward, on their way, with backs covered with mud.</p> - -<p>The rain continued to fall, wetting everything, the silver-buckled hats -of the Bretons, the tilted bonnets of the sailors, the laced shakos and -the white head-dresses, and the umbrellas.</p> - -<p>There was something so wan, so dead, about the air, that it was -difficult to imagine that there could be anywhere a sun . . . the notion -of it had gone. There was a feeling that you were imprisoned under -layers and thicknesses of dense, humid clouds which were deluging you. -It did not seem that they would ever be able to break, or that behind -them there could be a sky. You breathed water. You were no longer -conscious of the hour, and knew not whether the darkness was the -darkness of all this rain or whether the real winter's night was closing -in.</p> - -<p>The sailors brought into the streets a certain rather surprising note of -gaiety and youth, with their cheery faces and their songs, with their -large bright collars and their red pompoms standing out in sharp -contrast with the navy blue of their uniform. They went and came from -one tavern to another, jostling the crowd, saying things which had no -sense but which made them laugh. And sometimes they stopped on the -footpath, before the stalls of the shops where were retailed the hundred -and one things they needed for their use: red handkerchiefs, in the -middle of which were imprinted designs of famous ships, <i>Bretagne, -Triomphante, Devastation</i>; ribbons for their bonnets with handsome -inscriptions in gold; cords of complicated workmanship destined to close -securely those canvas sacks which they have on board for storing their -kit; elegant attachments in plaited thread for suspending from the -neck of the topmen their large knives; silver whistles for the -petty-officers, and finally, red belts and little combs and little -mirrors.</p> - -<p>From time to time came heavy squalls which sent bonnets flying and made -the drunken passers-by stagger. And then the rain came down more -heavily, more torrentially, and whipped like hail.</p> - -<p>The crowd of sailors steadily increased. They could be seen coming on in -groups at the end of the Rue de Siam; they ascended from the port and -from the lower town by the great granite stairways, and spread singing -into the streets.</p> - -<p>Those who came from the roadstead were wetter than the others, dripping -with sea-water as well as with rain. The sailing cutters, bending to the -cold squalls, leaping amid waves deep-edged with spray, had brought them -quickly into port. And joyously they climbed the steps which led to the -town, shaking themselves as cats do which have been sprinkled with -water.</p> - -<p>The wind rushed through the long drab streets, and the night promised to -be a wild one.</p> - -<p>In the roadstead—on board a ship which had arrived that very morning -from South America—on the stroke of four o'clock, a petty officer had -given a prolonged whistle, followed by cleverly executed trills, which -signified in the language of the sea: "Man the launch!" Then a murmur of -joy was heard in the ship, where the sailors were penned, on account of -the rain, in the gloom of the spar-deck. For there had been a fear for a -time that the sea might be too rough for communication with Brest, and -the men had been waiting anxiously for this whistle which set their -doubts at rest. For the first time, after three years of voyage, they -were about to set foot on the land of France, and impatience was great.</p> - -<p>When the men appointed, clothed in little costumes of yellow oilskin, -were all embarked in the launch and had taken their places in correct -and symmetrical order, the same petty officer whistled again and said: -"Liberty-men, fall in!"</p> - -<p>The wind and the sea made a great noise; the distances of the roadstead -were drowned in a whitish fog made of spray and rain.</p> - -<p>The sailors who had received permission to go ashore ascended quickly, -issued from the hatches and took their places in line, as their numbers -and names were called, with faces beaming with the joy of seeing Brest -again. They had put on their Sunday clothes; they completed, under the -torrential downpour, the last details of their toilet, setting one -another right with airs of coquetry.</p> - -<p>When "218: Kermadec!" was called, Yves appeared, a strapping youngster -of twenty-four, grave in mien, looking very well in his ribbed woollen -jersey and his large blue collar.</p> - -<p>Tall, lean with the leanness of the ancients, with the muscular arms and -the neck and shoulders of an athlete, his whole appearance gave an -impression of tranquil and slightly disdainful strength. His face, -beneath its uniform coat of bronze, was colourless; in some subtle way -impossible to define, a Breton face, with the complexion of an Arab. -Curt in speech, with the accent of Finistère; a low voice curiously -vibrant, recalling those instruments of very powerful sound, which one -touches only very lightly for fear of making too much noise.</p> - -<p>Hazel eyes, rather close together and very deep-set beneath the frontal -bone, with the impassive expression of a regard turned inwards; the nose -small and regular in shape; the lower lip protruding slightly as if in -scorn.</p> - -<p>The face immobile, marmorean, save in those rare moments when he smiles. -Then the whole face is transformed, and one sees that Yves is very -young. The smile itself is the smile of those who have suffered: it has -a childlike gentleness and lights up the hardened features a little as -the rays of the sun, falling by chance, light up the cliffs of Brittany.</p> - -<p>When Yves appeared the other sailors who were there regarded him with -good-humoured smiles and an unusual air of respect.</p> - -<p>This was because he wore for the first time on his sleeve the two red -stripes of a petty officer, which had just been awarded him. And on -board ship a petty officer is a person of consequence. These poor -woollen stripes, which, in the army, are given so quickly to the first -comer, represent in the navy years of hardship; they represent the -strength and the life of young men, expended at every hour of the day -and night, high up in the crow's nest, that domain of the topmen which -is shaken by all the winds of heaven.</p> - -<p>The boatswain, coming up, held out his hand to Yves. Formerly he also -had been a topmen inured to hardness, and he was a shrewd judge of -strong and courageous men.</p> - -<p>"Well, Kermadec," he said. "You are going to water those stripes of -yours, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, bo'sun," replied Yves in a low voice, but preserving a grave and -abstracted air.</p> - -<p>It was not the rain from heaven that the old boatswain had in mind; for, -as far as that went, the watering was assured. No, in the navy, to water -your stripes means to get drunk in order to do them honour on the first -day they are worn.</p> - -<p>Yves remained thoughtful in the face of the necessity of this ceremony, -because he had just sworn to me very solemnly that he would be sober, -and he wanted to keep his promise.</p> - -<p>And then he had had enough, at last, of these tavern scenes which had -been repeated so many times in all the countries of the world. To spend -one's nights in low pot-houses, at the head of the wildest and most -drunken of the crew, and to be picked up in the gutter in the -morning—one tires of these pleasures after a time, however good a -sailor one may be. Besides the mornings following are painful and are -always the same; and Yves knew that and wanted no more of them.</p> - -<p>It was very gloomy, this December weather, for a day of return. Of no -avail was it to be carefree and young, the weather cast over the joy of -homecoming a kind of sinister night. Yves experienced this impression, -which caused him, in spite of himself, a mournful surprise; for all -this, in sum, was his own Brittany; he felt it in the air and recognised -it despite this darkness of dreamland.</p> - -<p>The launch moved off, carrying them all towards the shore. It travelled -aslant under the west wind; it bounded over the waves with the hollow -sound of a drum, and, at each leap that it made, a mass of water broke -over them, as if it had been hurled by furious hands.</p> - -<p>They made their way very rapidly in a kind of cloud of water, the large -salt drops of which lashed their faces. They bowed their heads before -this deluge, huddled close one against the other, like sheep in a storm.</p> - -<p>They did not speak, all concentrated as they were on the prospect of the -pleasure that awaited them. There were among them young men, who, for a -year past, had not set foot on land; the pockets of all of them were -well-lined with money, and fierce desires bubbled in their blood.</p> - -<p>Yves himself thought a little of the women who were waiting for them in -Brest, and from among whom presently they would be able to choose. But, -nevertheless, he was gloomy, he alone of all the band. Never had so many -thoughts at one time troubled the head of this poor simpleton.</p> - -<p>It is true that he had had melancholy moods of this kind sometimes, -during the silence of the nights at sea; but then the return had -appeared to him from the distance in colours of rose and gold. And here, -to-day, was the return and, on the contrary, his heart was sadder now -than it had ever been before. And this he did not understand, for he had -the habit, as the simple and as children have, of suffering his -impressions without attempting to interpret them.</p> - -<p>With head turned towards the wind, heedless of the water which streamed -down his blue collar, he had remained standing, supported by the group -of sailors who pressed close against him.</p> - -<p>All this coast-line of Brest, which could be distinguished in vague -contours through the veil of the rain, awoke in him memories of his -years as ship-boy, passed here on this great misty roadstead, pining for -his mother. . . . This past had been rough, and, for the first time in -his life, his thoughts turned to what the future might be.</p> - -<p>His mother! ... It was true indeed that for nearly two years he had not -written to her. But that is the way with sailors; and, in spite of all, -these mothers of theirs are very dear to them. What usually happens is -this: they disappear for a few years, and then, one happy day, they -return, without warning, to the village, with stripes on their sleeve -and pockets full of hard-earned money, and bring back happiness and -comfort to the old forsaken home.</p> - -<p>They sped on through the freezing rain, leaping over the grey waves, -pursued by the whistling of the wind and the roar of the water.</p> - -<p>Yves was thinking of many things, and his fixed eyes now saw nothing. -The image of his mother had all at once taken on an infinite tenderness; -he felt that she was now quite near to him, in a little Breton village, -under this same winter twilight which enveloped him; in two or three -days from now, he would go, with an overmastering joy, to surprise her -and take her in his arms.</p> - -<p>The tossing of the sea, the wind and speed, rendered his changing -thoughts incoherent. At one moment he was disconcerted to find his -country under a sky so gloomy. During his voyage he had become used to -the heat and blue clearness of the tropics, and, here, it seemed that -there was a shroud casting a sinister night over the world.</p> - -<p>And a little later he was telling himself that he did not want to drink -any more, not that there was any harm in it after all, and, in any case, -it was the custom among Breton sailors; but, first of all, he had given -me his word, and secondly, at twenty-four, one is a grown man and has -had a full draught of pleasure, and it seems that one feels the need of -becoming a little more steady.</p> - -<p>Then he thought of the astonished looks of the others on board, -especially of Barrada, his great friend, when they saw him return -to-morrow morning, upright and walking straight. At this comical idea, a -childlike smile passed suddenly over his grave and manly face.</p> - -<p>They had now arrived almost under the Castle of Brest and, in the -shelter of the enormous masses of granite, there was suddenly calm. The -cutter no longer rocked; it proceeded tranquilly through the rain; its -sails were hauled down, and the men in yellow oilskins took over its -management with rhythmic strokes of their long oars.</p> - -<p>Before them opened that deep and dismal bay which is the naval port; on -the quays were alignments of cannon and of formidable-looking maritime -things. All around nothing but high and interminable constructions of -granite, all alike, overhanging the dark water and staged one above the -other with rows of little doors and little windows. Above these again, -the first houses of Brest and Recouvrance showed their wet roofs, from -which issued little trails of white smoke. They proclaimed their damp -and cold misery, and the wind rushed all about with a great dismal -moaning.</p> - -<p>It was now quite dark and the little gas flames began to pink with -bright yellow dots these accumulations of dark things. The sailors could -already hear the rumbling of the traffic and the noise of the town which -came to them from above the deserted dockyard, mingled with the songs of -drunken men.</p> - -<p>Yves, out of prudence, had entrusted to his friend Barrada on board all -his money, which he was saving for his mother, keeping in his pocket -only fifty francs for his night ashore.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></h4> - - -<p>"And my husband also, Madame Quéméneur, when he is drunk, sleeps all -day long."</p> - -<p>"So you have come out too, Madame Kervella?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I also am waiting for my husband, who arrived to-day on the -<i>Catinat.</i>"</p> - -<p>"And my man, Madame Kerdoncuff, the day he returned from China, slept -for two whole days; and I, you know, got drunk too, Madame Kerdoncuff. -Oh! and how ashamed of myself I was! And my daughter, also, she fell -down the stairs!"</p> - -<p>And these things, spoken in the singing and musical accent of Brest, are -exchanged under old umbrellas straining in the wind, between women in -waterproofs and pointed muslin head-dresses, who are waiting above, at -the top of the wide granite steps.</p> - -<p>Their husbands have come on that same boat which has brought Yves, and -their wives are waiting for them; fortified already by a little brandy, -they are on the watch, their eyes half merry and half tender.</p> - -<p>These old sailors whom they await were once perhaps gallant topmen -inured to hardship; but demoralized by their sojourns in Brest and by -drunkenness, they have married these creatures and sunk into the sordid -slums of the town.</p> - -<p>Behind these women there are other groups again on which the eye rests -with pleasure; young women of quiet mien, real sailors' wives these, -wrapt in the joy of seeing once more a sweetheart or a husband, and -gazing with anxiety into the great yawning cavern of the port, out of -which their beloved ones will come to them. And there are mothers, come -from the villages, wearing their pretty Breton festival dresses, the -wide coif and the gown of black silk embroidered cloth; the rain will -spoil them to be sure, these fine trappings, which are renewed perhaps -not more than twice in a lifetime; but it is necessary to do honour to -this son whom presently they will embrace before the others.</p> - -<p>"See there! The men from the <i>Magicien</i> are now entering the harbour, -Madame Kerdoncuff!"</p> - -<p>"And those from the <i>Catinat</i> also, do you see! They are following one -another, Madame Quéméneur!"</p> - -<p>Below, deep down, the launches come alongside the black quay, and those -who are awaited are among the first to ascend.</p> - -<p>First the husbands of these good ladies. Way for the seniors, let them -pass out first! Tar, and wind and sun and brandy have given them the -wrinkled physiognomies of monkeys. . . . And they go their way, arm in -arm, in the direction of Recouvrance, to some gloomy old street of tall -granite houses; presently they will climb to a damp room which smells of -gutters and the mustiness of poverty, where on the furniture are shell -ornaments covered with dust and bottles pell-mell with strange -knick-knacks. And thanks to the alcohol bought at the tavern below, they -will find oblivion of this cruel separation in a renewal of their youth.</p> - -<p>Then come the others, the young men for whom sweethearts are waiting, -and wives and old mothers, and, at last, four by four, climbing the -granite steps, the whole band of wild lads, whom Yves is taking to -celebrate his stripes.</p> - -<p>And those who are waiting for them, for this little band of hot-blooded -youth, are in the Rue de Sept Saints, already at their door and on the -watch: women whose hair is worn with a fringe combed down to the -eyebrows—with tipsy voices and horrible gestures.</p> - -<p>Before the night is out, these women will have their strength, their -restrained passions—and their money. For your sailormen pay well on the -day of their return, and over and above what they give, there is what -one may take afterwards, when by good luck they are quite drunk.</p> - -<p>They look about them undecided, almost bewildered, drunk already merely -from finding themselves on shore.</p> - -<p>Where should they go? How should they begin their pleasures? This wind, -this cold rain of winter and this sinister fall of the night—for those -who have a home, a fireside, all that adds to the joy of the return. To -these poor fellows it brought the need for a shelter, for somewhere -where they could warm themselves; but they were without a home, these -returning exiles.</p> - -<p>At first they wandered at hazard, linked arm in arm, laughing at -nothing, at everything, walking obliquely from right and left—with the -movements of captive beasts which have just been set free.</p> - -<p>Then they entered <i>À la Descente des Navires</i>, presided over by -Madame Creachcadec.</p> - -<p><i>À la Descente des Navires</i> was a low tavern in the Rue de -Siam.</p> - -<p>The warm atmosphere savoured of alcohol. There was a coal fire in a -brazier, and Yves sat down in front of it. This was the first time, for -two or three years past, that he had sat in a chair. And a real fire! -How he revelled in the quite unusual luxury of drying himself before -glowing coals. On board ship, there was never a chance of it; not even -in the great cold of Cape Horn or of Iceland; not even in the -persistent, penetrating rains of the high latitudes were they ever able -to dry themselves. For days and nights on end, they remained wet -through; doing their best to keep on the move, until the sun should -shine.</p> - -<p>She was a real mother to the sailors, was this Madame Creachcadec; all -who knew her could vouch for it. And she was very exact, too, in the -prices she charged for their dinners and their feastings.</p> - -<p>Besides, she knew them. Her large red face flushed already with alcohol, -she tried to repeat their names, which she heard them saying among -themselves; she remembered quite well having seen them when they were -boatmen on board the <i>Bretagne</i>; she even thought she could recall their -boyhood, when they were ship-boys on the <i>Inflexible.</i> But what tall, -fine fellows they had grown since those days! Truly it was only an eye -like hers that could recognize them, altered as they were. . . .</p> - -<p>And, at the back of the tavern, the dinner was cooking, on stoves which -already sent out an appetising odour of soup.</p> - -<p>From the street came sounds of a great uproar. A band of sailors was -approaching, singing, scanning at the top of their voices, to a -frivolous air, these words of the Church: '<i>Kyrie Christe, Dominum -nostrum; Kyrie eleison</i>. . . .</p> - -<p>They entered, upsetting the chairs, and at the same time a gust of wind -laid low the flame of the lamps.</p> - -<p><i>Kyrie Christe, Dominum nostrum</i>. . . . The Bretons did not like this -kind of song, brought no doubt from the back streets of some great city. -But the discordance between the words and the music was so droll, it -made them laugh.</p> - -<p>The newcomers, however, were from the <i>Gauloise</i>, and recognized, and -were recognized by, the others; they had all been ship-boys together. -One of them hastened to embrace Yves: it was Kerboul who had slept in -the next hammock to him on board the <i>Inflexible.</i> He, too, had become -tall and strong; he was on the flagship, and, as he was a steady sort of -fellow, he had for a long time worn red stripes on his sleeve.</p> - -<p>The air in the tavern was oppressive and there was a great deal of -noise. Madame Creachcadec brought hot wine all steaming, the preliminary -to the dinner that had been ordered, and heads began to swim.</p> - -<p>There was commotion this night in Brest: the patrols were kept busy.</p> - -<p>In the Rue de Sept Saints and in the Rue de Saint Yves, singing and -shouting went on until the morning; it was as if barbarians had been -loosed there, bands escaped from ancient Gaul; there were scenes of -rejoicing that recalled the boisterousness of primitive times.</p> - -<p>The sailors sang. And the women, their fingers itching for the pieces of -gold—agitated, dishevelled in this great excitation of the sailors' -homecoming—mingled their shrill voices with the deep voices of -the men.</p> - -<p>The latest arrivals from the sea might be recognized by their deeper -tint of bronze, by their freer carriage; and then they carried with them -objects of foreign origin; some of them passed with bedraggled parakeets -in cages; others with monkeys.</p> - -<p>They sang, these sailors, at the top of their voices, with a kind of -naïve expression, things that made one shudder, or perhaps little airs -of the south, songs of the Basque country, and, above all, they sang -mournful Breton melodies which seemed like old bagpipe airs bequeathed -from Celtic antiquity.</p> - -<p>The simple, the good, sang part songs together; they remained grouped by -village, and repeated in their native tongue the long laments of the -country, preserving even in their drunkenness their fine resonant young -voices. Others stuttered like little children and embraced one another; -unconscious of their strength they smashed doors and knocked down -passers-by.</p> - -<p>The night was advancing; only places of ill-repute remained open; and in -the streets the rain continued to fall on the exuberance of these wild -rejoicings.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></h4> - - -<p>Six o'clock on the following morning. A dark mass having the form of a -man in the gutter—by the side of a kind of deserted street overhung by -ramparts. It is still dark. The rain still falls, fine and cold; and the -winter wind continues to roar. It had "watched," as they say in the -navy, and passed the night in groaning.</p> - -<p>It was in the lower part of the town, a little below the bridge of -Brest, at the foot of the great walls, in that locality where sailors -commonly find themselves, who are without a home and who have had the -vague intention, blind drunk as they were, of returning to their ship -and have fallen en route.</p> - -<p>There is already a kind of half light in the air; a wan, pallid light, -the light of a winter's day rising on granite. Water was streaming over -this human form which lay on the ground, and, right at its side, poured -in a cascade into the opening of a drain.</p> - -<p>It began to get a little brighter; a sort of light made up its mind to -descend along the high granite walls. The dark thing in the gutter was -now clearly seen to be the body of a tall man, a sailor, lying with arms -outstretched in the form of a cross.</p> - -<p>A first passer-by made a sound of wooden sabots on the hard pavé, as of -someone staggering. Then another, then many. They followed all the same -direction in a lower street which led to the gate of the naval dockyard.</p> - -<p>Soon this tapping of sabots became a thing extraordinary; a fatiguing, -continuous noise, hammering the silence like a nightmare music.</p> - -<p>Hundreds and hundreds of sabots, tramping before daylight, coming from -everywhere, and passing along the street below; a kind of early morning -procession of evil import: it was the workers returning to the dockyard, -still staggering from having drank so much the night before, the gait -unsteady, the eyes lustreless.</p> - -<p>And there were women also, ugly, pale, and wet, who went to right and -left as if seeking someone: in the half light they peered into the faces -of the men—waiting and watching there, to see if the husband, or the -son, had at last come out of the taverns, if he was going to do his -day's work.</p> - -<p>The man lying in the gutter was also examined by them; two or three bent -over him so that they might better distinguish his face. They saw -features youthful but weatherbeaten, and set now in a corpse-like -fixity, the lips contracted, the teeth clenched. No, they did not know -him. And in any case he was not a workman, this man; he wore the large -blue collar of a sailor.</p> - -<p>One of them, nevertheless, who had a son a sailor, tried, out of -kindness of heart, to drag him from the water. He was too heavy.</p> - -<p>"What a big corpse!" she said as she let his arms drop.</p> - -<p>This body on which had fallen all the rain of the night was Yves.</p> - -<p>A little later, when it was full daylight, his comrades, who were -passing, recognized him and carried him away.</p> - -<p>They laid him, all soaked with the water of the gutter, at the bottom of -the cutter, itself wet from the spray of the sea, and quickly they put -off with canvas spread.</p> - -<p>The sea was rough; there was a head wind. They beat to windward for a -long time, and were hard put to it to reach their ship.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></h4> - - -<p>Yves awoke slowly towards evening. He had first of all sensations of -suffering, which came one by one, as after a kind of death. He was cold, -cold to the marrow of his bones.</p> - -<p>Above all he was bruised and battered and benumbed—stretched for some -hours now on a hard bed: and he made a first effort, scarcely conscious, -to turn over. But his left foot, in which suddenly he felt a sharp pain, -was caught in a rigid thing against which he realized at once it was -vain to struggle. And he recognized the sensation: he understood now: he -was in irons.</p> - -<p>He was already familiar with the inevitable morrow of wild nights of -pleasure: to be shackled by a ring to an iron bar for days on end! And -this place in which he must be, he divined it without taking the trouble -to open his eyes, this recess narrow as a cupboard, and dark, and damp, -with its fusty smell, and its dim pale light falling from an opening -above: the hold of the <i>Magicien.</i></p> - -<p>But he confused this to-morrow with others which had been spent -elsewhere—far away, at the other side of the earth, in America, or in -the ports of China. . . . Was this for thrashing the alguazils of Buenos -Ayres? Or was it that sanguinary fight at Rosario which had brought him -to this? Or, again, the affair with the Russian sailors at Hong-Kong? He -was not very clear, to a thousand miles or so, having forgotten in what -part of the world he was.</p> - -<p>All the winds and all the waves of the sea had carried the <i>Magicien</i> to -all the countries of the world; they had shaken it, rolled it, battered -it from without, but without succeeding in disturbing the various things -which were within this hold—without displacing the diver's dress which -must be there hanging behind him, with its great eyes and morse-like -head, and without changing the smell of rats, of damp, and tar.</p> - -<p>He still felt very cold, so horribly cold that it was like a pain in his -bones. And he realized that his clothes were wet and his body also. The -pitiless rain of the preceding night, the wind, the darkling sky, -returned vaguely to his memory. . . . He was not after all in the blue -countries of the Equator! He remembered now. He was in France, in -Brittany. This was the return of which he had so long dreamed.</p> - -<p>But what had he done to be in irons already, almost before he had set -foot on his native land? He tried to remember but could not. Then -suddenly a recollection came to him, as of a dream: when they were -hoisting him on board, he pulled himself together a little, and said -that he would climb unaided, and then, as ill-luck would have it, he -found himself face to face with a certain old warrant officer whom he -held in aversion. And straightway he had fallen to abusing him most -vilely; then there had been some sort of scuffle and what happened -afterwards he did not know, for at that moment he had fallen inert again -and lost consciousness.</p> - -<p>But then ... the leave that had been promised him to go to his village -of Plouherzel would not now be given him! . . . All the things for which -he had hoped, for which he had longed, during three years of misery, -were lost! He thought of his mother and his heart smote him sorely; his -eyes opened bewildered, seeing only what was within, dilated in a -strange fixity by a tumult of interior things. And, in the hope that it -was only an evil dream, he tried to shake his tortured foot in its iron -ring.</p> - -<p>Then a burst of laughter, deep and resonant, went off like a firework in -the dark hold: a man, clothed in a woollen jersey fitting close to his -body, was standing beside Yves and looking at him. As he laughed he -threw back his handsome head and showed his white teeth with a feline -expression.</p> - -<p>"Hello! so you are waking up?" asked the man in a sarcastic voice, which -vibrated with the accent of Bordeaux.</p> - -<p>Yves recognized his friend Jean Barrada, the gunner, and looking up at -him he asked <i>if I knew.</i></p> - -<p>"Tut! Tut!" said Barrada in his chaffing Gascon way. "Does he know? He -has been down three times and even brought the doctor here to have a -look at you; you were like a log and we were frightened about you. And I -am on duty here to let him know if you move."</p> - -<p>"What for? I don't want him or anyone. Don't go, Barrada, do you -understand, I forbid you!"</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>And so it had happened again. He had come to grief once more, and once -more through his old failing. And, on every one of the rare occasions on -which he set foot on shore, it fell out thus and it seemed that he could -not help it. It must be true, what had been said to him, that this habit -was a terrible and a fatal one, and that a man was lost indeed when once -it had taken hold of him. In rage against himself he twisted his -muscular arms until they cracked; he half raised himself, grinding his -teeth; and then he fell back striking his head against the hard planks. -Oh! his poor mother, she was now quite near to him and he would not see -her, despite his longing of the last three years! . . . And this was his -return to France! What anguish and what misery!</p> - -<p>"At least you must change your clothes," said Barrada. "To remain wet -through as you are won't do you any good. You will be ill."</p> - -<p>"So much the better, Barrada! Leave me alone."</p> - -<p>He spoke harshly, his eyes dark and menacing; and Barrada, who knew him -well, realized that the best thing to do was to leave him.</p> - -<p>Yves turned his head and for a time buried his face in his upraised -arms. Then, fearful lest Barrada should imagine he was weeping, out of -pride he altered his position and gazed straight in front of him. His -eyes, in their wearied atony, kept a fierce fixity, and his lower lip, -protruded more than usual, expressed the savage defiance which in his -heart he was hurling at all the world. He was forming evil projects in -his head; ideas which he had already conceived in former days, in hours -of rebellion and despair, returned to him.</p> - -<p>Yes, he would go away, like his brother Goulven, like both his brothers. -This time he had made up his mind, irrevocably. The life of those -sea-rovers whom he had encountered on the whale-boats of Oceania, or in -places of pleasure in the towns of La Plata, that life lived in the -hazard of the sea without law and without restraint, had for a long time -attracted him. It was in his blood for that matter; it was a thing -inherited.</p> - -<p>To desert and sail the sea in a trading ship abroad, or to take part in -the ocean fishing, that is ever the dream which obsesses sailors, and -the best of them especially, in their moments of revolt.</p> - -<p>There are good times in America for deserters. He would not be -successful, of that, in his bitterness, he felt sure; for he was -ordained to toil and misfortune; but, if poverty must be his lot, out -there at least he would be free!</p> - -<p>His mother! Yes, in his dash for freedom, he would steal as far as -Plouherzel, in the night, and embrace her. In this again like his -brother Goulven, who had done the same thing many years before. He -remembered having seen him arrive one night, like a fugitive; he had -remained concealed during the day of farewell which he had spent at his -home. Their poor mother had wept bitterly, it is true. But what was -there to do? It was fate. And this brother Goulven, how forceful he -looked and how manly!</p> - -<p>Except his mother, Yves at this moment held all the world in hate. He -thought of those years of his life spent in the service, in the -confinement of ships of war, under the whip of discipline; he asked -himself for whose profit and why. His heart overflowed with the -bitterness of despair, with desire for vengeance, with a rage to be -free. . . . And, as I was the cause of his re-engaging for five years in -the navy, he fumed against me and included me in his resentment against -the world in general.</p> - -<p>Barrada had left him and the darkness of a December night came on. -Through the hatch of the hold the grey light of day was no longer to be -seen; only a damp mist now descended, which was icy cold.</p> - -<p>A patrol had come and lit a lantern in a wire cage, and the objects in -the hold were illumined confusedly. Yves heard above him the evening -assembly, the slinging of the hammocks, and then the first cry of the -men of the watch marking the half-hours of the night.</p> - -<p>Outside the wind was still blowing, and as gradually silence overtook -the business of men, the great unconscious voices of things became more -perceptible. High up there was a continuous roaring in the rigging; and -one heard the sea which lay all about us and which, from time to time, -shook everything, as if in impatience. At every shock, it rolled Yves' -head on the damp wood, and he put his hands underneath so that he might -suffer less.</p> - -<p>Even the sea, this night, was angry and vicious; it beat against the -sides of the ship with a continuous noise.</p> - -<p>At this hour no one, surely, would descend again into the hold. Yves was -alone, stretched on the floor, fettered, his foot in the iron ring, and -his teeth now were chattering.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></h4> - - -<p>Nevertheless, an hour afterwards, Jean Barrada reappeared, ostensibly to -arrange one of those tackles which are used for the guns.</p> - -<p>And this time, Yves called him in a low voice:</p> - -<p>"Barrada, you might, like a good fellow, get me a drink of water."</p> - -<p>Barrada went quickly to fetch his little mug, which during the day he -carried on his belt and which he put away at night in a gun; he poured -into it some water which was of the colour of rust, having been brought -from La Plata in an iron tank, and a little wine stolen from the -steward's room, and a little sugar stolen from the Commander's office.</p> - -<p>And then with much kindness and very gently, he raised Yves' head and -gave him to drink.</p> - -<p>"And now," he said, "won't you change your clothes?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," replied Yves, in a meek voice, which had become almost childlike, -and sounded odd by contrast with his manner of a short time before.</p> - -<p>He helped him to undress, humouring him as one might a child. He dried -his chest, his shoulders and his arms, put him on dry clothes, and made -him lie down again, first placing a sack under his head so that he might -be able to sleep easier.</p> - -<p>When Yves murmured his thanks, an amiable smile, the first, passed over -his face, changing its whole expression. It was over now. His heart was -softened and he was himself again. To-day the change had come more -quickly than usual.</p> - -<p>He felt an infinite tenderness as he thought of his mother, and he -wanted to cry; something like a tear even came into his eyes, which were -not used to yield to this weakness. . . . Perhaps after all a little -indulgence would again be shown him, on account of his good conduct on -board, on account of his endurance in hardship, and of his arduous work -in rough weather. If it were possible—if he was not given too harsh a -punishment, it was certain he would not repeat his offence and that he -would earn forgiveness.</p> - -<p>It was a strong resolution this time. It needed but a single glass of -brandy, after the long abstinences of the sea, to make him lose his head -at once; and then the devil in him drove him to drink another, and -another again. But if he did not begin, if he never drank again, he -would have a sure means of keeping steady.</p> - -<p>His repentance had the sincerity of the repentance of a child, and he -persuaded himself that, if he escaped this time from the dread court -martial which consigns sailors to prison, this would be his last great -fault.</p> - -<p>He hoped also in me and, above all, wanted earnestly to see me. He -begged Barrada to go up and fetch me.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></h4> - - -<p>Yves had been my friend for seven years when he celebrated in this way -his return to his native land.</p> - -<p>We had entered the navy by different doors: he two years before I did, -although he was some months younger.</p> - -<p>The day on which I arrived at Brest, to don there that first naval -uniform, which I see still, I met Yves Kermadec by chance at the house -of a patron of his, an old Commander who had known his father. Yves was -then a boy of sixteen. I was told that he was about to become a -probationer after two years as a ship-boy. He had just returned from his -home, on the expiration of eight days' leave which had been given him; -his heart seemed to be very full of the good-byes he had lately bidden -his mother. This and our age, which was almost the same, were two points -we had in common.</p> - -<p>A little later, having become a midshipman, I came across him again on -my first ship. He was then grown into a man and serving as a topman. And -I chose him for my hammock man.</p> - -<p>For a midshipman, the hammock man is the sailor allotted to hang each -evening his little suspended bed and to take it down in the morning.</p> - -<p>Before removing the hammock, it is naturally necessary to awaken the -sleeper within it and to ask him to get out. This is usually done by -saying to him:</p> - -<p>"It is réveillé, captain."</p> - -<p>This phrase has to be repeated many times before it produces its effect. -Afterwards, the hammock man carefully rolls up the little bed and takes -it away.</p> - -<p>Yves performed this service very tactfully. I used also to meet him -daily for the drill, aloft on the main top.</p> - -<p>There was a solidarity at that time between the midshipmen and the -topmen; and, during the long voyages especially, such as those we were -making, the relations between us became very cordial. On shore, in the -strange places in which sometimes, at night, we came across our topmen, -we were used to call them to our aid when there was danger or an -adventure took an ugly look, and then, thus united, we could lay down -the law.</p> - -<p>In such cases, Yves was our most valuable ally.</p> - -<p>His service records, however, were not excellent. "Exemplary on board; a -most capable and sailor-like man; but his conduct on shore is -impossible." Or: "Has shown admirable pluck and devotion," and then: -"Undisciplined, uncontrollable." Elsewhere: "Zeal, honour, and -fidelity," with "Incorrigible" in regard, etc. His nights in irons, his -days in prison were beyond counting.</p> - -<p>Morally as well as physically, large, strong, and handsome, but with -some irregularities in details.</p> - -<p>On board he was an indefatigable topman, always at work, always -vigilant, always quick, always clean.</p> - -<p>On shore, if there was a sailor out of hand, riotous, drunk, it was -always he; if a sailor was picked up in the morning in the gutter, half -naked, stripped of his clothes as one might strip a corpse, by negroes -sometimes, at other times by Indians or Chinese, again it was always he. -The sailor absent without leave, who fought with the police, or used his -knife against the alguazils, again and always it was he. ... All kinds -of mad escapades were familiar to him.</p> - -<p>At first I was amused at the things this Kermadec did. When he went -ashore with his friends it would be asked in the midshipmen's quarters: -"What fresh tale shall we hear to-morrow morning? In what condition will -they return?" And I used to say to myself: "My hammock will not be fixed -for me for two days at least."</p> - -<p>It did not matter about the hammock. But this fellow Kermadec was so -devoted, he seemed so good-hearted, that I began to be genuinely -attached to him, rough sea-rover as he seemed to be and tipsy as he so -often was. I no longer laughed at his more serious misdeeds, and would -gladly have prevented them.</p> - -<p>When this first voyage together was ended and we separated, it happened -that chance brought us together again on another ship. And then I grew -almost to love him.</p> - -<p>There were, moreover, two circumstances in this second voyage which -helped greatly to unite us.</p> - -<p>The first was at Montevideo one morning before daybreak. Yves had been -on shore since the previous evening, and I was approaching the quay in a -pinnace manned by sixteen men, for the purpose of laying in a supply of -fresh water.</p> - -<p>I can recall the bleak half light of the dawn, the sky already luminous -but still starry, the deserted quay, alongside which we rowed slowly, -looking for the watering place; the large town, which had a false air of -Europe, with I know not what of primitive civilization.</p> - -<p>As we passed we saw the long straight streets, immensely wide, opening -one after the other on the whitening sky. At this uncertain hour when -the night was gradually being dissipated, not a light, not a sound; here -and there, some straggler without a home, moving with aimless -hesitation; along the sea front, evil-looking taverns, large wooden -buildings, smelling of spices and alcohol, but closed and dark as tombs.</p> - -<p>We stopped before one called the tavern <i>de la Independancia.</i></p> - -<p>A Spanish song coming from within, more or less stifled; a door, -half-opened on the street; two men outside fighting with knives; a -drunken woman, who could be heard vomiting against the wall. On the -quay, heaps of bullock skins freshly flayed, infecting the sweet pure -air with an odour of venison. . . .</p> - -<p>A singular convoy came out of the tavern; four men carrying another, who -seemed to be very drunk, unconscious. They hurried towards the ships, as -if they were afraid of us.</p> - -<p>We knew this game, which is common enough in the evil places along this -coast; to ply sailors with liquor, to make them sign some preposterous -engagement, and then to carry them on board by force when they can no -longer keep their legs. Then the ship puts to sea as quickly as may be, -and when the man comes to his senses he is far from shore; he is fairly -caught, under a yoke of iron, and borne away, like a slave, to the whale -fisheries, far from any inhabited land. And once there, his escape need -no longer be feared, for he is a <i>deserter</i> from his country's service, -lost. . . .</p> - -<p>And so this convoy passing along the quay excited our suspicion. They -pressed on like thieves, and I said to the sailors: "Let us follow -them!" Seeing our intention the men dropped their burden, which fell -heavily to the ground, and made off as fast as their legs would carry -them.</p> - -<p>And the burden was Kermadec. While we were occupied in picking him up -and establishing his identity, the others had made good their escape and -were now locked in the tavern. The sailors wanted to batter in the -doors, to take the place by assault, but that would have led to -diplomatic complications with Uruguay.</p> - -<p>Besides, Yves was saved, and that was the essential thing. I brought him -back to the ship, wrapt in a cloak and lying on the goatskins which -contained our provision of fresh water.</p> - -<p>And to have rendered him this service increased my attachment -to him.</p> - -<p>The second time was when we were at Pernambuco. I had given a promissory -note to some Portuguese in a gambling den. The next day I had to find -the money, and as I had none, and as my friends had none either, I was -in a difficulty.</p> - -<p>Yves took the situation very tragically, and at once offered me the -money of his own which he had entrusted to my care, and which I kept in -a drawer of my desk.</p> - -<p>"It would give me much pleasure. Captain, if you would take it! I have -no further need to go ashore and, as you know well, it would be better -for me if I could not go."</p> - -<p>"Yves, my good fellow, I would accept your money gladly for a few days, -since you wish to lend it me; but, you know, it is short of what I want -by a hundred francs. So you see it's hardly worth while."</p> - -<p>"Another hundred francs? I think I have that below in my kit-bag."</p> - -<p>And he went away, leaving me very much astonished. That he should have -another hundred francs in his kit-bag seemed very unlikely.</p> - -<p>He was a long time in returning. He had not found them. I had -anticipated that.</p> - -<p>At length he reappeared.</p> - -<p>"Here you are!" he said, handing me his poor sailor's purse, with a -happy smile.</p> - -<p>Then a doubt came to me and, to resolve it, I said to him:</p> - -<p>"Yves, lend me your watch, too, like a good fellow; I left mine in -pledge."</p> - -<p>He was very confused, and said it was broken. I had guessed right: to -get these hundred francs he had just sold it with the chain, for half -its value, to a petty officer on board.</p> - -<p>And so Yves knew that he could call on me in any circumstances. And when -Barrada came for me on his behalf, I went down to him where he lay, in -irons, in the hold.</p> - -<p>But this time, by striking this old warrant officer, he had got himself -in a very serious position; my intercession for him was in vain, and his -punishment was heavy. Four months afterwards he had to put to sea again -without having seen his mother.</p> - -<p>When we were on the point of embarking together on the <i>Sibylle</i> for a -voyage round the world in three hundred days, I took him on a Sunday to -Saint Pol-de-Léon, in order to console him.</p> - -<p>It was all I could do for him, for his Plouherzel was a long way from -Brest, in the Côtes-du-Nord, in the depth of a remote part of the -country, and at that time there was no railway which could take us there -in a single day.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;"><i>5th May, 1875.</i></p> - - -<p>For many years Yves had been looking forward to seeing this Saint -Pol-de-Léon, the little town where he was born.</p> - -<p>In the days when we sailed the misty northern waters together, often as -we passed in the offing, rocked in the grey swell, we had seen the -legendary tower of Creizker upreared in the dark distance, above the -mournful and monotonous stretch of land which, beyond, represented -Brittany, the country of Léon.</p> - -<p>And in the night watch we used to sing together the Breton song:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">Oh! I was born in Finistère,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And in Saint Pol first saw the day:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My bell tower is beyond compare</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And I love my native land O.</span></p> - -<p><span style="margin-left: 10em;">. . . . .</span></p> - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">Give me back my heather</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And my old bell tower.</span></p> - - -<p>But there was as it were a fatality, a throw of the dice against us: we -had never succeeded in getting there, to this Saint Pol. At the last -moment when we were on the point of starting out, something interfered -to prevent us; our ship received unexpected orders and it was necessary -to leave at once. And at the end we had come to regard with a kind of -superstition this tower of Creizker, glimpsed only and always from a -distance, in silhouette, on the edge of the mournful horizon.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>This time, however, the position seems assured, and we start off in good -earnest.</p> - -<p>In the coupé of the old country diligence, we take our places next to a -Breton Curé. The horses set off at a good pace towards Saint Pol, and -all looks very real.</p> - -<p>It is early in the morning, in the first days of May; but it is raining, -a fine grey rain like a rain of winter. Ambling along the winding road, -ascending steep hills, descending into damp valleys, we make our way in -the midst of woods and rocks. The high ground is covered with dark fir -trees. In the valleys are oaks and beeches, the foliage of which, new -and wet, is of a tender green. By the roadside there are carpets of -Easter daisies and Breton flowers: the first pink silenes and the first -foxgloves.</p> - -<p>Turning a rocky corner we find that the rain and the wind have suddenly -ceased. And as if by magic the aspect of things is entirely changed.</p> - -<p>We see before us as far as eye commands a great flat country, a barren -moor, bare as a desert: the old country of Léon, in the background of -which, far away, stands the granite shaft of the Creizker.</p> - -<p>And yet this mournful country has a charm of its own, and Yves smiles as -he perceives his tower towards which we are moving.</p> - -<p>The gorse is in blossom and the whole plain has a colour of gold, varied -in places by stretches pink with heather. A veil of pearl-grey mist, of -a tint peculiar to the north, very soft and subtle, entirely covers the -sky; and in the monotony of this pink and yellow country, on the extreme -edge of the far horizon, nothing but these outstanding points: the -silhouette of Saint Pol and the three dark towers.</p> - -<p>Some little Breton girls are driving flocks of sheep before them through -the heather; some young lads, caracoling on horses which they ride -bareback, startle them; little traps pass laden with women in white -coifs who are on their way to hear mass in the town. The bells are -ringing, the road is gaily animated; we arrive.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></h4> - - -<p>After we had lunched together at the best inn, we found that the -winter's morning had yielded place to a fine May day. In the empty -little streets, branches of lilac, clusters of wistaria, pink foxgloves -which no one had sown brightened the grey walls; the sun was really -shining and all about was a savour of spring.</p> - -<p>And Yves took in everything, marvelling that no recollection of his -early childhood came back to him, seeking, seeking in the dim background -of his memory, recognizing nothing, and then, little by little, becoming -disillusioned.</p> - -<p>On the grand'place of Saint Pol the crowd of the Sunday was assembled. -It seemed a picture of the Middle Ages. The cathedral of the old bishops -of Léon dominated the square, overwhelming it with its dark -denticulated mass, throwing over it a great shadow of bygone times. -Around were ancient houses with gables and little turrets; all the -drinkers of the Sunday, wearing aslant their wide felt hats, were -sitting at table before the doors. This crowd in its Breton dress, -living and alert here, this, too, might have been a crowd of olden days; -in the air, one heard vibrate only the harsh syllables, the northern -<i>ya</i> of the Celtic tongue.</p> - -<p>Yves passed rather distractedly into the church, over the memorial -stones and over the old bishops asleep beneath.</p> - -<p>But he stopped, suddenly thoughtful, at the door, before the baptismal -font.</p> - -<p>"Look!" he said. "They held me above this. And we must have lived quite -near here; my poor mother has often told me that, on the day of my -baptism, on the day, you know, when they so cruelly insulted us by not -ringing the bell for me, she had heard, from her bed, the singing of the -priests."</p> - -<p>Unfortunately Yves had omitted to obtain from his mother, at Plouherzel, -the information necessary to identify the house in which they used to -live.</p> - -<p>He had reckoned on his godmother, Yvonne Kergaoc by name, who, he -understood, lived quite close to the church. And on our arrival we had -asked for this Yvonne Kergaoc: "Kergaoc." . . . They remembered her -well.</p> - -<p>"But from where do you come, my good sirs? . . . She is dead these -twelve years!"</p> - -<p>As for the Kermadecs no one had any recollection of them. And it was -scarcely to be wondered at: it was more than twenty years since they -left the town.</p> - -<p>We climbed the tower of Creizker; naturally it was high, it seemed never -to end, this point in the air. We greatly disturbed the old crows who -had their nests in the granite.</p> - -<p>A marvellous lace-work of grey stone, which mounted, mounted endlessly, -and was so slender it produced sensations of vertigo. We climbed within -it by a narrow and steep spiral staircase, discovering through all the -openings of the "open tower" infinite vistas.</p> - -<p>At the top, isolated, the two of us, in the keen air and the blue sky, -we saw things as a hovering bird might see them. First, below our feet, -were the crows which whirled in a dark cloud, giving us a concert of -mournful cries; much lower, the old town of Saint Pol, all flattened -out, a Lilliputian crowd moving about in its little grey streets, like a -swarm of ants; as far as eye could see, to the south, stretched the -Breton country up to the Black Mountains; and, to the north, was the -port of Roscoff, with thousands of strange little rocks riddling with -their pointed tops the mirror of the sea—the mirror of the great pale -blue sea which stretched away to mingle in the farthest distance with -the similar blue of the sky.</p> - -<p>It pleased us to have succeeded at last in climbing this Creizker, which -had so many times watched us pass in the midst of that infinity of -water; it was so calm, planted there, so permanent, so inaccessible and -unchanging, while we, poor waifs of the sea, were at the mercy of every -angry wind that blew.</p> - -<p>This granite lace-work which supported us in the air had been smoothed -and worn by the winds and rains of four hundred winters. It was of a -grey deepened by warm pinkish tones; and over it, in patches, was that -yellow lichen, that moss peculiar to granite, which takes centuries to -grow and throws its golden tint over all the old Breton churches. The -ugly-faced gargoyles, the little monsters with irregular features, who -live high up there in the air, were making faces at our side in the sun, -as if they resented being looked at from so near, as if they were -surprised themselves to be so old, to have endured through so many -tempests and to find themselves once more in the sunlight. It was these -people who had presided from above over the birth of Yves; it was these -people also who from afar watched us with friendliness as we passed by -at sea, when we, for our part, saw only a vague black shaft. And now we -were making their acquaintance.</p> - -<p>Yves was still very disappointed, however, that he had discovered no -trace of his old home nor of his father; no recollection, either in the -memory of others or his own. And he continued to gaze upon the grey -houses below, especially at those which were nearest the foot of the -tower, awaiting some intuition of the place where he was born.</p> - -<p>We had now only half an hour to spend in Saint Pol before catching the -evening diligence. Tomorrow morning we should have to be back in Brest, -where our ship was waiting to take us once more very far from Brittany.</p> - -<p>We sat down to drink some cider in an inn on the <i>Place de l'Église</i>, -and there again we questioned the hostess, who was a very old woman. And -she, as chance would have it, started suddenly on hearing Yves' name.</p> - -<p>"You are Yves Kermadec's son?" she said. "Oh! Did I know your parents! I -should think so, indeed. We were neighbours in those days. Why, when you -arrived in the world, they sent to fetch me. But you are like your -father, you know! I watched you when you came in. But you are not so -handsome as he, bless me, though, to be sure, you are a fine-looking -man."</p> - -<p>Yves, at this compliment, glanced at me, repressing a strong inclination -to smile; and then the old woman, growing very talkative, began to tell -him a multitude of things over which more than twenty years had passed, -while he listened attentive and greatly moved.</p> - -<p>Then she called some other old women, who also had been neighbours, and -they all began to talk.</p> - -<p>"Bless my soul!" they said. "How is it that no one was able to answer -you sooner? Everybody remembers them, remembers your parents. But people -are stupid in these parts; and then, when strangers come in this way, it -isn't surprising that people should hesitate to talk."</p> - -<p>Yves' father had left in the country round a reputation a little -legendary of a kind of giant of rare beauty, who was never able to -conform to the ways of others.</p> - -<p>"What a pity, sir, that such a man should so often go astray! It was the -tavern that ruined him, your poor father; for all that, he was very fond -of his wife and children, he was very gentle with them, and in the -country round everybody loved him except M. le Curé."</p> - -<p>"Except M. le Curé!" Yves repeated to me in a low voice, becoming -serious. "You see it is what I told you, on the subject of my baptism."</p> - -<p>"One day, there was a battle, here on the square, in 1848, for the -revolution; your father withstood single-handed the market people and -saved the life of the Mayor."</p> - -<p>"He had a big horse," said the hostess, "which was so wild that no one -dared to approach it. And people kept out of the way, I assure you, when -he passed mounted on the beast."</p> - -<p>"Ah!" said Yves, struck suddenly with a recollection which seemed to -have come to him from a great distance. "I remember that horse, and I -recall that my father used to lift me up and sit me on it when it was -tied in the stable. It is the first recollection I have of my father and -I can just picture a little his face. The horse was black, was it not, -with white hoofs?"</p> - -<p>"That's it! That's it," said the old woman. "Black with white hoofs. It -was a wild beast, and, bless my soul! what an idea for a sailor to have -a horse!"</p> - -<p>The inn is full of men drinking cider. They make a cheerful noise of -glasses and Breton conversations. And gradually they gather round and -make a sort of circle about us.</p> - -<p>The hostess has four granddaughters, all alike, and all ravishingly -pretty in their white coifs. They do not look like daughters of an inn. -They are the perfect type of the handsome Breton race of the north, and -they have the calm, thoughtful expression of those women of olden times -which the old portraits have preserved for us. They, too, gathered round -us, looking and listening.</p> - -<p>We are questioned in our turn. Yves replies: "My mother is still living -at Plouherzel with my two sisters. My two brothers, Gildas and Goulven, -are at sea, on American whalers. I myself have been for the last ten -years in the Navy."</p> - -<p>There is not much time to lose if we want to see before we go the old -home of the Kermadecs. It is quite near, by the very side of the church. -They show it to us from the door, and advise us to ask to be allowed to -see the room on the left, on the first floor; that is the room in which -Yves was born.</p> - -<p>At the side of the house is the large abandoned park of the bishopric of -Léon, where, it seems, Yves, when he was quite a little child, used to -play every day in the grass with Goulven. It is very thick to-day, this -grass of May, and full of Easter daisies and silenes. In the park roses -and lilac are growing wild now, as in a wood.</p> - -<p>We knock at the door of the house which the good women have pointed out -to us, and those who live there are a little surprised at the request we -make. But we do not inspire distrust, and they ask us only not to make a -noise when we enter the first floor room, on account of the old -grandmother who is sleeping there and is on the point of death. And -then, considerately, they leave us alone.</p> - -<p>We enter on tiptoe. It is a large room, poor and almost empty. The -things in it seem to have a presentiment of the grim visitor who is -expected; one is tempted almost to ask whether he has not already -arrived, and our eyes glance uneasily at a bed, the curtains of which -are drawn. Yves looks all round, trying to stretch his intelligence into -the past, to force himself as it were to remember. But it is no use. It -is finished; and even here he can find nothing.</p> - -<p>We were descending preparatory to leaving, when suddenly something came -back to him like a light in the distance.</p> - -<p>"Ah!" he said, "I think now that I recognize this staircase. Wait! Below -there should be a door on that side leading into a yard, and a well on -the left with a large tree, and, at the back, the stable where we used -to keep the horse with the white hoofs."</p> - -<p>It was as if there had suddenly come a break in the clouds. Yves stood -still on the stairs, gazing through this gap which had just been opened -on the past; he was thrilled to feel himself at grips with that -mysterious thing which men call memory.</p> - -<p>Below, in the yard, we found everything as he had described it, the well -on the left, the tree, the stable. And Yves said to me with an emotion -of awe, removing his hat as if he were by a grave:</p> - -<p>"Now I can see quite clearly my father's face."</p> - -<p>It was high time to depart, and the diligence was waiting for us.</p> - -<p>Throughout our journey over this golden-coloured moor, during the long -May twilight, our eyes were fixed on the Creizker tower which was -disappearing in the distance, and was lost at last in the depths of the -limpid darkness. We were bidding it adieu, for we were going to leave -to-morrow for very distant seas, where it would no longer be able to see -us pass.</p> - -<p>"To-morrow morning," said Yves, "you must let me come into your room on -board very early, so that I may write at your desk. I want to tell all -that we have found out to my mother before leaving France. And, you -know, I am sure that tears will come into her eyes when my letter is -read to her."</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;"><i>June, 1875.</i></p> - - -<p>It was now the twentieth parallel of latitude, in the region of the -trade winds. The hour was about six in the morning. On the deck of a -ship which rode solitary in the midst of the immense blue, was a group -of young men, stripped to the waist, in the warmth of the rising sun.</p> - -<p>It was Yves' band, the topmen of the foremast and those of the -bowsprit.</p> - -<p>They had thrown over their shoulders, all of them, the handkerchiefs -which they had just washed, and they stood there gravely with back to -the sun to dry them. Their bronzed faces, their laughter, had still a -youthful, almost childlike, grace, and in their movements, in the -supple, flexible way in which they placed their bare feet there was -something catlike.</p> - -<p>And every morning, at this same hour, in this same sunshine, in this -same costume, this group foregathered on these same boards which carried -them along, all heedless, in the midst of the infinity of the sea.</p> - -<p>This particular morning they were talking about the moon, about its -human face, which had remained with them since the night as a pale, -persistent image graven in their memory. Throughout their watch they had -seen it on high, solitary and round, in the midst of the immense bluish -void; they had even been obliged to cover their faces (as they slept on -their backs in the open) on account of the maladies and evil spells it -casts on the eyes of sailors, when they sleep under its gaze.</p> - -<p>There were some amongst them who preserved still, and in spite of all, a -great air of nobility, a something indescribably superb in their -expression and general appearance; and the contrast between their aspect -and the simple things they said was singular.</p> - -<p>There was Jean Barrada, the sceptic of the company, who broke into the -discussion from time to time with a sarcastic burst of laughter, showing -his white teeth always and throwing back his handsome head. There was -Clet Kerzulec, a Breton from the island of Ushant, who was preoccupied -especially with the human features stamped on the pale disc. And then -big Barazère, who posed as a thinker and scholar, assuring them that it -was a world much larger than ours and inhabited by strange peoples.</p> - -<p>They shook their heads, incredulous, at this, and Yves, very thoughtful, -said:</p> - -<p>"You know, Barazfère, there are things . . . there are things about -which I don't believe you know very much."</p> - -<p>And then he added, with an air which cut short the discussion, that in -any case, he was going to find me and get me to explain to him what the -moon really was.</p> - -<p>There was no doubt in their minds that I should be well-informed about -the moon as about everything else. For they had often seen me occupied -in watching its progress through a copper instrument in company with a -signalman who counted for me out loud, with the monotonous voice of a -clock, the tranquil minutes and seconds of the night.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, the little handkerchiefs were drying on the bare backs of the -men, and the sun was mounting in the wide blue sky.</p> - -<p>Some of these little handkerchiefs were all uniformly white; others had -pictures on them in many colours; and some even had great ships printed -in the middle in a red frame.</p> - -<p>I, whose watch it was, gave the order: "'Way aloft! Loose the topsail -reef!" And the boat-swain appeared among the talkers blowing his silver -whistle. Then suddenly, in the twinkling of an eye, like a band of cats -on whom a dog has been loosed, they all scattered, running, into the -masting.</p> - -<p>Yves lived aloft in his top. Looking up, one was sure to see his tall, -slim silhouette against the sky. But one rarely met him below.</p> - -<p>It was I who used to climb from time to time to visit him, although my -duty no longer required me to do so, since I had been promoted from the -rank of midshipman; but I was rather fond of this domain of Yves where -one was fanned by a still purer air.</p> - -<p>In this top, he had his little belongings; a pack of playing cards in a -box, needles and thread for sewing, stolen bananas, greenstuffs taken -during the night from the Commander's store, anything he was able to -find in his nocturnal marauding that was fresh and green (sailors are -partial to these rare things which soothe gums parched by salt). And -then he had his "parrot" attached by a claw, its eyes blinking in the -sun.</p> - -<p>The "parrot" was a large-headed owl of the pampas which had fallen on -board one day after a high wind.</p> - -<p>There are some strange destinies on the earth, but few stranger than -that of this owl making the tour of the world at the top of a mast. How -unexpected a fate!</p> - -<p>He knew his master and welcomed him with little joyous flappings of his -wings. Yves fed him regularly with his own ration of meat, although he -used to let him loose.</p> - -<p>It amused him greatly to peer into its eyes from quite near, and to see -how it shrank away, and arched its back with an air of offended dignity, -nodding its head after the manner of a bear. Then he would burst out -laughing, and say to it in his Breton accent:</p> - -<p>"Oh! but you are a stupid little fool, my old parrot!"</p> - -<p>From aloft one dominated as from a great height the deck of the -<i>Sibylle</i>, a <i>Sibylle</i> flattened out and tapering, very strange to see -from this domain of Yves, having the appearance of a long wooden fish, -whose colour of new spruce contrasted with the deep and infinite blues -of the sea.</p> - -<p>And, through all these transparent blues, behind, in our wake, a little -grey thing having the same shape as the ship which it followed -unceasingly under water: the shark. It is always one shark which -follows, rarely two; but if the one is caught, another comes. For days -and nights it follows, follows without ever getting tired, waiting for -what may fall from the ship: debris of any kind, living men or dead men.</p> - -<p>And now and then a number of quite small swallows came also to bear us -company, amusing themselves, for a while, in picking up the crumbs of -biscuits which we scattered behind us in this watery desert, and then -disappeared in the distance describing joyous curves. Little beasts of a -rare kind, reddish in colour with a white tail, which live one knows not -how, lost amid the great waters, always in the open sea.</p> - -<p>Yves, who wanted one, set traps for them, but they were too shrewd to be -caught.</p> - -<p>We were approaching the Equator, and the regular breath of the trade -wind began to die away. There were now erratic breezes which shifted -suddenly, followed by times of calm in which everything became -immobilized in a kind of immense blue splendour; and then the yards, the -tops, and the great white sails were reflected in the water in the form -of inverted pictures undulating and incomplete.</p> - -<p>The <i>Sibylle</i> scarcely moved, she was slow and lazy, she had the -movements of one half asleep. In the great moist heat, which even the -nights did not diminish, things, as well as men, seemed to be taken with -drowsiness. Gradually in the air a strange calm began to reign. And -presently clouds, heavy and obscure, gathered over the warm sea like -large dark curtains. The Equator was now quite near.</p> - -<p>Sometimes flights of swallows, large ones these and strange in movement, -rose suddenly from the sea, taking flight in startled fashion with long -pointed wings of a glistening blue, and then settled again, and one saw -them no more. These were shoals of flying-fish which had lain in our -course and which we had disturbed.</p> - -<p>The sails, the cordage hung limp, like dead things; we drifted lifeless -like a wreck.</p> - -<p>Aloft, in Yves' domain, might still be felt some slow movements which -were no longer perceptible below. In this motionless air saturated with -rays, the crow's nest continued to rock with a tranquil regularity which -conduced to slumber. There were long slow oscillations accompanied -always by the same flappings of drooping sails, the same creakings of -dry wood.</p> - -<p>It was intensely hot, and the light had a surprising splendour, and the -mournful sea was of a milky blue, of the colour of melted turquoise.</p> - -<p>But when the strange dense clouds, which travelled low so as almost to -touch the water, passed over us, they brought us night and drenched us -with a deluge of rain.</p> - -<p>We were now directly under the Equator; and it seemed that there was no -breath of air there to carry us forward.</p> - -<p>They lasted for hours, sometimes for a whole day, this darkness and -these tropical storms. Then Yves and his friends assumed a uniform which -they called the "uniform of savages," and sat them down, all heedless, -under the warm downpour and let it rain as it would.</p> - -<p>And then suddenly the weather changed. The black curtain of clouds drew -slowly away, continuing its sluggish progress, over the turquoise -coloured sea; and the splendid light reappeared more astonishing than -ever after the darkness; and the powerful equatorial sun proceeded to -drink up very quickly all this water that had been poured upon us; the -sails, the woodwork of the ship, the awnings recovered their whiteness -in the sunshine; the <i>Sibylle</i> in its entirety took on once more its -normal clear colour in the midst of the vast blue monotony which -stretched everywhere around.</p> - -<p>Looking down from the top in which Yves lived, one saw that this blue -world was without limit, that its clear depths were without end. One -felt that the horizon, the last line of the waters, was a great distance -away, although it did not differ at all from the immediate surroundings, -having always the same clearness, always the same colour, always the -same mirror-like polish. And one realized then the <i>roundness</i> of the -earth, which alone set a limit to the vision.</p> - -<p>At the hour of sunset there were in the air kinds of vaults formed of -successions of tiny golden clouds; they were repeated, in diminishing -perspective, until they almost disappeared in the empty distance; one -followed them to the point of vertigo; they were like the naves of -Apocalyptic temples having no end. And the air was so clear that it -needed the horizon of the sea to shut out the vista of these depths of -the sky; the last little golden clouds formed as it were a tangent to -the line of the waters, and seemed, in their remoteness, as delicate as -the finest of hatching.</p> - -<p>At other times there were simply long bands which traversed the sky, -gold on gold: the clouds of a bright and as if incandescent gold, on a -Byzantine background of dull and tarnished gold. The sea below took on a -certain shade of peacock blue with reflections of molten metal. -Afterwards all this faded very quickly into deep transparencies, into -shadowy colours to which it was not possible to give a name.</p> - -<p>And the nights which followed, even they were luminous; when everything -slept in heavy immobility, in a silence of death, the stars appeared -above more brilliant than in any other region of the world.</p> - -<p>And the sea also was illumined in its depths. There was a kind of -immense diffused light in the waters. The slightest movements—of the -ship in its slow progress, of the shark as it turned about in our -wake—disclosed in the warm eddies lights like that of the glow-worm. -And, besides, on the great phosphorescent mirror of the sea, there were -thousands of fleeting flames; it was as if there were myriads of little -lamps which lit themselves everywhere, burnt for a few seconds and then -went out. These nights were aswoon with heat, full of phosphorus, and -all this dimmed immensity was pregnant with light, and all these waters -were replete with latent life in its rudimentary state as formerly the -mournful waters of the primitive world.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></h4> - - -<p>It was some days now since we had left behind us the tranquillities of -the Equator, and we were proceeding slowly towards the south, driven by -the south trade wind. One morning Yves entered my room full of business, -in order to prepare his lines for catching birds: "We have seen," he -said, "the first 'draught-boards' behind us."</p> - -<p>These "draught-boards" are birds of the open sea, near relatives of the -sea-gull, and the most beautiful of all the tribe: snowy white, the -plumage soft and silky, with a black draught-board finely designed on -the wings.</p> - -<p>The first "draught-boards!" Their appearance reminds us of the distance -we have travelled; it is a sign that we have left well behind us our -northern hemisphere, and that we are approaching the cold regions which -lie on the other side of the earth, in the far south.</p> - -<p>They were before their due time nevertheless, these "draught-boards"; -for we were still in the blue zone of the trade winds. And all day long, -and every day, and every night, was the same breeze, regular, warm, and -exquisite to respire; and the same transparent sea, and the same little -white fleecy clouds passing peacefully across the lofty heaven; and the -same bands of flying fish rising up in foolish alarm with their long wet -wings, and shining in the sun like birds of bluish steel.</p> - -<p>There were quantities of these flying-fish; and when it happened that -one of them was foolish enough to alight on board, the topmen quickly -cut off its wings and ate it.</p> - -<p>The time when Yves used to like to descend from his crow's nest and come -to visit me in my room was in the evening, especially after the assembly -at evening quarters. He would come very quietly, without making in his -bare feet any more noise than a cat. He would drink some fresh water -straight out of a water-cooler which hung at my port-hole, and then set -to work putting in order divers things which belonged to me; or, maybe, -he would read some novel. There was one especially of George Sand's -which enthralled him, "Le Marquis de Villemer." At the first reading I -had surprised him on the point of tears, towards the end.</p> - -<p>Yves could sew very skilfully, as all good sailors can, and it was -quaint to see him engaged in this work, given his size and aspect. -During his evening visits he used to overhaul my uniform and do any -repairs which he judged were beyond the skill of my servant to attend to -properly.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></h4> - - -<p>We sailed steadily, fully rigged, towards the south. Now there were -clouds of "draught-boards" and other sea-birds in attendance upon us. -They followed us, wondering and confident, from morning until night, -crying, throwing themselves about, flying in erratic curves—as if in -welcome to us, another great bird with canvas wings, which was entering -their distant and infinite domain, the Southern Pacific Ocean.</p> - -<p>And their numbers increased daily in measure as we progressed. With the -"draught-boards" there were pearl-grey petrels, the beak and claws -lightly tinted with blue and pink; and black molly-mawks; and great, -heavy albatrosses, dirty in colour, with their stupid sheepish air, with -their immense rigid wings, cleaving the air, whining after us. There was -one among them which the sailors pointed out to one another; an Admiral, -a bird of a rare and enormous kind, with <i>three stars</i> marked in black -on its long wings.</p> - -<p>The weather had changed and become calm, misty, mournful. The south -trade wind had died away in its turn, and the clearness of the tropics -was no more. A great damp cold surprised our senses. We were in August -and the winter of the southern hemisphere was beginning. When we looked -round the empty horizon, it seemed that the north, the side of the sun -and of living countries, was still blue and clear; while the south, the -side of the Pole and of the watery deserts, was dark and gloomy.</p> - -<p>As a favour to me, Yves had obtained for his parrot a reserved -compartment in the Commander's hen coop, and he used to go every evening -to cover it with a piece of sailcloth in order to protect it from the -night air.</p> - -<p>Every day the sailors used to "fish" with their lines for -"draught-boards" and petrels. There were rows of these birds, skinned -like rabbits, hanging all red in the foreshrouds, waiting their turn to -be eaten. After two or three days, when they had rendered all the oil in -their bodies, they were ready for cooking.</p> - -<p>These foreshrouds were the larder of the topmen. By the side of the -"draught-boards" and the petrels, even rats might sometimes be seen, -stripped also of their skin, and hung by the tail.</p> - -<p>One night we heard suddenly the rising of a great fearsome voice, and -everybody bestirred himself and took to running.</p> - -<p>At the same time the <i>Sibylle</i> leaned over, shuddering, as if in the -grip of a tenebrous power.</p> - -<p>Then even those who were not of the watch, even those who were sleeping -on the spar deck, understood: it was the beginning of the great winds -and the great swell; we had now entered the stormy latitudes of the -south, amid which we should have to fight for our existence and at the -same time make headway.</p> - -<p>And the farther we advanced into this sullen ocean, the colder became -the wind, and the more mountainous the swell.</p> - -<p>The fall of the nights became sinister. We were in the neighbourhood of -Cape Horn: desolation on the only land that was anywhere near, -desolation on the sea, everywhere a desert. At this hour of the winter -twilight, when one felt more particularly the need of a shelter, of -getting near a fire, of covering under which to sleep—we had nothing, -nothing—we kept vigil, for ever on the alert, lost amid all these -moving things which made us dance in the darkness.</p> - -<p>We tried hard to create an illusion of home in the little cabins rudely -shaken, where swung the suspended lamps. But it was no use; there was no -stability anywhere: we were in a little frail thing, lost, far from any -land, in the midst of the immense desert of the southern waters. And, -outside, we heard continuously the roar of the waves and the mournful -moaning of the wind which smote the heart.</p> - -<p>And Yves, for his part, had no more than his poor swinging hammock, in -which, one night out of two, he was allowed the leisure to sleep a -little warmly.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></h4> - - -<p>It was one morning, as we were entering the Celebean Sea, that the owl -which was Yves' parrot died, a morning of high wind on which we took in -the second reef of the topsail. It was accidentally crushed between the -mast and the yard.</p> - -<p>Yves, who heard its hoarse cry, rushed to its assistance, but too late. -He came down from the crow's nest carrying the poor thing in his hand, -dead, flattened out, having no longer the shape of a bird, a mash of -blood and grey feathers, out of which emerged, moving still, one poor -curled-up claw.</p> - -<p>I could see that Yves was very much upset. But he did no more than show -it to me without a word, biting his disdainful underlip. Then he threw -it into the sea, and the shark which was following us swallowed it as if -it had been an ablet.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a></h4> - - -<p>In Brittany, during the winter of 1876, the <i>Sibylle</i> had been back at -Brest for two days—after having completed its voyage round the -world—and I was with Yves, one evening in February, in a country -diligence which was carrying us towards Plouherzel.</p> - -<p>It was an out-of-the-way place, this village where Yves' mother lived. -The diligence in which we sat was due to take us in four hours from -Guincamp to Paimpol, where we counted on spending the night; and from -there we should have a long way to go on foot.</p> - -<p>On we went, jolted over a rough little road, plunging deeper and deeper -into the silence of the mournful countryside. The winter's night -descended on us slowly, and a fine rain obscured things in a grey mist. -We passed trees and more trees, showing one after another their dead -silhouette. At wide intervals we passed villages also—Breton villages, -dark thatched cottages and old churches with slender granite -steeples—little groups of homesteads, isolated and melancholy, which -quickly disappeared behind us in the night.</p> - -<p>"Do you know," said Yves, "I came this way, at night, eleven years -ago—I was then fourteen—and I wept bitterly. It was the first time I -had left home, and I was travelling alone to Brest to join the navy."</p> - -<p>I was accompanying Yves on this journey to Plouherzel partly for want of -something to do. The leave granted me was short, and I had not time, on -this occasion, to visit my home, so I was going to visit his, and to see -this village of his which he loved so well.</p> - -<p>And, at the moment, I was rather sorry I had come. Yves, absorbed in the -happiness of his return, kept up a conversation with me out of -deference, but his thoughts were elsewhere. I felt that I was a stranger -in this world for which we were bound, and this Brittany, which I had -not yet learned to love, oppressed me with its sadness.</p> - -<p><i>Paimpol!</i> We roll over cobbles, between old dark houses, and the -diligence stops. People are waiting there with lanterns. Breton words -and French words are interchanged.</p> - -<p>"Are there any travellers for the Hôtel Pendreff?" pipes a small boy's -voice.</p> - -<p>The Hôtel Pendreff! Surely the name is familiar to me. And now I -remember that nine years before, during my first year in the navy, I had -rested there for an hour, on a day in June, when my ship, by chance, had -anchored in a bay near by. I recollect it well; an old manor house, -turreted and gabled, presided over by two aged sisters named Le -Pendreff, both alike, in large white bonnets, making a picture of bygone -days. We will get down at the Hôtel Pendreff.</p> - -<p>In the house itself nothing is changed. But one of the Le Pendreff -sisters is dead. She who remains was already so old nine years ago that -she can scarcely have grown older since. Her type, her bonnet, the -placid dignity of her bearing, are of a past generation.</p> - -<p>It is good to dine before the great roaring fire, and cheerfulness -returns to us.</p> - -<p>Afterwards, the good dame Le Pendreff, armed with a copper candlestick, -leads the way up a stone staircase and ushers us into a very large room, -where there are two beds of an old-fashioned type hung with white -curtains.</p> - -<p>Yves, however, undresses himself very slowly and without conviction.</p> - -<p>"Ah!" he says, suddenly putting on his blue collar again. "I am going to -continue the journey! In the first place, you understand, I should not -be able to sleep. It's true, I shall get home very late, I shall awaken -them after midnight, and that will startle them a little—I did that in -the year when I returned from the war. But I am so anxious to see them, -I cannot wait here."</p> - -<p>And I, too, decided that I would follow his example.</p> - -<p>Paimpol is asleep when we leave in the pale moonlight. I am accompanying -him for a part of his way, to help to pass the hours of the night. We -are now in the fields.</p> - -<p>Yves walks very quickly; he is very excited, and goes over in his mind -the memories of his earlier returns.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said. "After the war I returned like this, about two o'clock -in the morning, and woke them up. I had walked from Saint Brieuc; I was -returning, very weary, from the siege of Paris. You will realize I was -quite young then. I had just become able seaman.</p> - -<p>"And, I remember, I got a great fright that night: by the cross of -Kergrist, which we shall see in a minute at the turning of this road, I -came upon a little old man, very ugly, who stared at me with -outstretched arms, but without moving. And I am sure he was a ghost; for -he disappeared almost at once, beckoning with his finger as if he wanted -me to follow him."</p> - -<p>Presently we reached this cross of Kergrist. We saw it rise up before us -as if it were someone approaching in the darkness. But there was no -ghost at its foot.</p> - -<p>It was there I said good-bye to Yves and retraced my steps, for I, for -my part, was not going to Plouherzel. When we no longer heard the sound -of each other's footsteps in the silence of the winter's night, the -ghost of the little old man came back into our minds, and in spite of -ourselves we took to peering into the darkness of the undergrowth.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a></h4> - - -<p>On the following morning I opened my eyes in the large room of the good -dame Le Pendreff. The Breton sun filtered gently through the windows. -The day, apparently, was very fine.</p> - -<p>After the first few moments which I always spend in asking myself in -what corner of the world I am, I remembered Yves and I heard outside the -tramping of a crowd in sabots. There was a great fair that day in -Paimpol, and I dressed myself up in ordinary sailor's clothes in order -that I might not intimidate the many friends to whom I was going to be -presented as a south-country sailor. This had been arranged with Yves, -both the dressing up and the story attached to it.</p> - -<p>I descended the steps of the hotel. The sun was shining and the square -was full of people: sailors, peasants, fishermen. Yves, too, was there; -he had returned in the early morning for the fête with all his -relations from Plouherzel; and he was waiting outside to conduct me to -his mother.</p> - -<p>She was a very old woman, this mother of Yves, holding herself very -upright and rather proudly in her peasant dress. She resembled him a -little about the eyes, but her expression was hard. I was surprised to -find her so old. She looked over seventy. It is true, of course, that in -the country people age very quickly, especially when grief is added to -toil.</p> - -<p>She did not understand a word of French and scarcely looked at me.</p> - -<p>But there was a great number of cousins and friends who all welcomed me -warmly and with an air of good humour. They had come from afar, from -their little moss-grown cottages scattered about the wild countryside, -to assist at the great fête of the town. And with them I needs must -drink: cider, wine; there was no end to it.</p> - -<p>The noise steadily increased and some hoarse-voiced pedlars of ballads -were singing now in Breton, under red umbrellas, woeful and heartrending -things.</p> - -<p>Presently a personage arrived of whom Yves had often spoken to me, his -childhood's friend, Jean; he lived in a neighbouring cottage, and Yves -had come across him again in the service, a sailor like himself. He was -of our own age, with an open and intelligent face. He embraced Yves -affectionately and then introduced us to Jeannie, who, for the last -fortnight, had been his wife.</p> - -<p>Yves overwhelmed his mother with attentions and caresses; they had many -things to tell one another, and they both spoke at once. He made -apologies to us from time to time, but it was good to see them and to -hear them. Her eyes lost their hard expression when she looked at him.</p> - -<p>The good people of the country have always interminable business to -transact with the notary; I left them as they all made their way to the -one at Paimpol to wait their turn.</p> - -<p>In any case I had decided not to establish myself with them until -to-morrow, in order that I might not be in the way during their first -day, and I went off alone for a long walk.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a></h4> - - -<p>I walked for about an hour. By chance I had taken the same road as -yesterday with Yves, and I had passed again the cross of Kergrist.</p> - -<p>Now Paimpol and the sea, and the islands, and the headlands wooded with -dark fir trees, had disappeared behind a fold of the ground; a more -mournful country stretched before me.</p> - -<p>This February day was calm and very dreary; the air was almost mild, and -in places the sky was blue, but mainly it was overclouded, as this -Breton sky always is.</p> - -<p>I made my way along damp lanes, bordered, according to old usage, by -high banks of earth, which shut out the view sadly. The short grass, the -damp moss, the bare branches told of winter. At the corners of the road -old calvaries stretched out their grey arms; they bore simple carvings, -quaintly altered by the centuries: the instruments of the Passion, or -perhaps a distorted figure of Christ.</p> - -<p>At wide intervals were straw-thatched cottages, green with moss, half -buried in the earth and the dead branches. The trees were stunted, -stripped by the winter, twisted by the wind from the sea. Not a soul in -sight and silence everywhere.</p> - -<p>A chapel of grey granite with an enclosure of beeches and tombs. . . . -Ah! yes, I recognize it without ever having seen it, the chapel of -Plouherzel! Yves had often spoken of it to me on board during the night -watch, during the clear nights at the other side of the world, when we -used to dream of home. "When you reach the chapel," he used to say, "it -is quite near; you have but to turn into the path on the left, and two -hundred yards away is our home."</p> - -<p>I turned to the left and, by the side of the little road, I saw the -cottage.</p> - -<p>It was solitary, quite low and overshadowed by old beech trees.</p> - -<p>It looked out upon a mournful expanse of country, the distances of which -were shaded in dark grey. There were interminable, monotonous plains -with phantoms of trees; a salt water lake at the hour of low water, an -empty lake hollowed out of the granite strata, a deep meadow of seaweed, -with an island in the middle.</p> - -<p>A strange island, formed of a single piece of polished granite, like a -back, having the shape of a large beast sitting. One looked about for -the sea, the real sea which with the returning tide must come to fill -these abandoned reservoirs, but there was no sign of it anywhere. A cold -dark mist was rising on the horizon, and the winter sunshine was -beginning to fade.</p> - -<p>Poor Yves! So this is his home; a lonely cottage by the roadside; a poor -little Breton cottage, in a turning off a remote lane, low-pitched, -under a lowering sky, half buried in the earth, with ancient little -granite walls overgrown with parietaries and moss.</p> - -<p>All his memories of childhood are centred here; it was his cradle, his -nest; a cherished home in which his mother lived, a home to which, in -far-off countries, in the great cities of America and Asia, his -imagination always brought him back. He thought of it with love, of this -little corner of the world, during the fine calm nights at sea and -during the riotous nights of brutal pleasure which made up his life of -adventure. A poor, lonely cottage, at the turning of a road, and that -was all.</p> - -<p>In his dreams at sea it was this that he saw: under a threatening sky, -amid the mournful country of this land of Goëlo, these old damp little -walls overgrown with parietaries; and the neighbouring cottages in which -kind old women in white Breton head-dresses used to spoil him when he -was a child; and then, at the corner of the roads, the granite -calvaries, corroded by the centuries. . . .</p> - -<p>Merciful heavens! How dreary this country is! How dreary and how -depressing!</p> - -<p>I knocked at the door and a young girl who resembled Yves appeared on -the threshold.</p> - -<p>I asked her if this was indeed the house of the Kermadecs.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said, a little surprised and apprehensive. And then, -suddenly:</p> - -<p>"Ah! you, sir, are the friend of my brother who arrived with him at -Brest yesterday evening?"</p> - -<p>But she was rather concerned to see that I came alone.</p> - -<p>I entered. I saw the cupboards, the Breton beds, the old plates in rows -on the plate stand. Everything looked clean and respectable; but the -cottage was very small and humble.</p> - -<p>"All our relations are rich," Yves had often told me. "It is only we who -are poor."</p> - -<p>I was shown one of those beds in the form of a cupboard, with two -places, which had been prepared for Yves and me. I was to occupy the -upper shelf, which was decorated with thick hangings of reddish cloth, -very clean and very stiff.</p> - -<p>"Won't you sit down? They will be back from the town very soon now."</p> - -<p>But no. I thanked her and went away.</p> - -<p>Half-way to Paimpol, as night was falling, I perceived in the distance a -large blue collar, in a little trap which was being driven briskly in -the direction of Plouherzel: the little carriage of friend Jean bringing -back Yves and his mother. I had just time to hide myself behind a hedge; -if they had recognized me, there would have been no escape from them, of -that I was certain.</p> - -<p>It was quite dark when I reached Paimpol, and the little street lamps -were lit. I tried to mingle in the crowd which moved about the square -and consisted for the most part of those sailors who are known in these -parts as Icelanders, men who exile themselves every summer, for six -months, in the dangerous fishing expeditions to the cold northern seas.</p> - -<p>None of these men was alone. They perambulated the streets, singing, -with young women on their arm, sisters, sweethearts, mistresses. And -these pictures of happiness and life made me feel my own utter -loneliness. I walked about alone, miserable and unknown to them all, in -my borrowed clothes which resembled theirs. People stared at me. "Who is -that? A stranger in search of a ship? We have never seen him before."</p> - -<p>I felt cold at heart and impulsively I turned away to take once more the -road to Plouherzel. After all, perhaps I should not be greatly in the -way of my simple friends there, if I went and warmed myself a little -among them.</p> - -<p>I had forgotten all about dinner and walked rapidly, fearful lest I -should arrive too late, fearful lest I should find the cottage shut up -for the night and my friends in bed.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a></h4> - - -<p>At the end of about an hour I was in the midst of fields, absolutely -lost. Around me nothing but darkness, and the silence of a winter's -night. I wandered along muddy lanes; not a soul of whom I could ask the -way, not a hamlet, not a light. But always the dark silhouettes of -trees, and, at intervals, calvaries; some of these calvaries were very -large, and I had no recollection of having seen them in my walk during -the day.</p> - -<p>I retraced my steps hurriedly. For a long time I tried different -directions, running. An icy rain began to fall, driven by the wind which -had risen suddenly. It did not distress me much that I had lost my way, -but I felt the need of seeing someone friendly, and I made haste in my -efforts to find Yves.</p> - -<p>It must have been very late when I recognized ahead of me the chapel of -Plouherzel and the sea-water lake, on which the moonlight was now -falling, and the dark mass of the granite isle on the pale water, the -back of the great couchant beast.</p> - -<p>Near the chapel I heard voices. In the darkness two men, one of athletic -build, holding each other by the hand and talking to each other very -affectionately, in the manner of men in the early stage of intoxication: -Yves and Jean; and I hastened to them.</p> - -<p>They were greatly surprised and pleased to see me. And Jean, taking each -of us by the arm, insisted that we should both accompany him to his -home.</p> - -<p>Jean's cottage, isolated also, was in the neighbourhood of Yves', but it -was much larger and better furnished.</p> - -<p>You realized at once that you were in the home of people comfortably -off: the presses and the beds had clasps of figured steel which shone -like armour. At the farther end was a monumental fireplace, in which -blazed a large oak log.</p> - -<p>Two women were sitting before this fire, Jeannie, the young wife, and -the old grandmother, in tall head-dress, busy at her spinning-wheel.</p> - -<p>She would have made a fine study for an artist, this mother of Jean. She -had also, in some measure, brought up Yves, whom she called in Breton -"her other son," and whom she kissed very affectionately on both cheeks.</p> - -<p>The women, for the past hour, had been sitting up anxiously for them. -They received them with indulgence, although they were tipsy (it was -what commonly happened when old friends met), scolded them just a -little, and then set to work to make pancakes and soup for the three of -us.</p> - -<p>A wild wind, which had begun to blow from the sea, roared outside, in -the darkness of the deserted countryside. From time to time, it rushed -down the chimney, driving before it the bright flames of the fire; and -then little flakes of ash, very light, began to dance a round-dance -about the hearth, very low, skimming the floor, like those unhappy souls -of dwarfs which circle the whole night long about the Great Rocks.</p> - -<p>We were very comfortable before this fire which dried our clothes soaked -with rain, and we waited eagerly for the hot soup which was being -prepared for us.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a></h4> - - -<p>The pancakes, which were being made for us, resembled the moon, so large -were they; they were passed to us in turn, piping hot, at the end of a -long oak spoon shaped like the oar of a cutter.</p> - -<p>Yves let one fall on a large hen which we had not noticed on the floor. -The hen retreated hurriedly to a dark corner, shaking its feathers with -a peevish and offended air. I wanted to laugh and so did Jeannie, but we -dared not, knowing as we both did that it was a sign of misfortune.</p> - -<p>"That old black one again!" said the old grandmother, letting go her -spinning-wheel, and looking at Yves with an air of consternation. -"Jeannie, you must remember to send it to market to-morrow morning; it -is for ever wandering about when all the others are in bed; it will end -by bringing unhappiness upon us."</p> - -<p>We cut our pancakes in small pieces and put them in our soup-bowls, and -then we eat them, well-soaked, with our wooden spoons. And Jeannie made -us drink, all three out of the same large mug, some very good cider.</p> - -<p>Afterwards, when we had eaten and drunk our fill, Jean began to sing, in -a fine tenor voice, a sea chanty known to all Breton sailors. Yves and I -sang bass, and the old grandmother beat time with her head and the pedal -of her spinning-wheel. We no longer heard the mournful refrains which -the wind sang, all alone, outside.</p> - -<p>The ditty ran:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">We were three sailor lads of Groix,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">We were three sailor lads of Groix,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'A sailing on the <i>Saint François.</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 8em;">How the wind blows!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The wind is the plague o' the sailor.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Heave to! There's a man overboard;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Heave to! There's a man overboard;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The others are in sore distress.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 8em;">How the wind blows!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The wind is the plague o' the sailor.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The others are in sore distress,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The others are in sore distress,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">They hoist the white flag on the mast.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 8em;">How the wind blows!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The wind is the plague o' the sailor.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">They hoist the white flag on the mast,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">They hoist the white flag on the mast,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But all they find is his poor hat.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 8em;">How the wind blows!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The wind is the plague o' the sailor.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But all they find is his poor hat,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But all they find is his poor hat,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">His 'baccy pipe and his jack-knife.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 8em;">How the wind blows!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The wind is the plague o' the sailor.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The mother dear he left behind,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The mother dear he left behind,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">She prays Saint Anne of Auray.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 8em;">How the wind blows!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The wind is the plague of the sailor.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">O! good Saint Anne send back my son,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">O! good Saint Anne send back my son,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The good Saint Anne she makes reply.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 8em;">How the wind blows!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The wind is the plague o' the sailor.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The good Saint Anne she makes reply,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The good Saint Anne she makes reply,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"You'll find him again in Paradise!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 8em;">How the wind blows!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The wind is the plague o' the sailor.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Home she goes to her cottage lone,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Home she goes to her cottage lone,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And dies, poor soul, on the morrow.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 8em;">How the wind blows!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The wind is the plague o' the sailor.</span></p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</a></h4> - - -<p>When it was time to go, I found that Yves was much more tipsy than I -could have believed. Outside he stumbled up to his knees in puddles of -water, and reeled from side to side. To get him home I put my right arm -round his waist and his left arm over my shoulder and almost carried -him. We could see nothing but the intense blackness of the night; a -strong wind lashed our faces, and, in the dark lanes, Yves no longer -knew where he was.</p> - -<p>They were uneasy in his cottage and were sitting up for him. His mother -scolded him, in her stern way, speaking loud and angrily as one might to -a naughty child; and he went very crestfallen and sat down in a corner.</p> - -<p>However, we were forced to partake of a second supper; it is the custom -and there was no escape. An omelette, more pancakes, and slices of brown -bread and butter. Afterwards we proceeded to retire for the night, the -men first and then, the light having first been extinguished, the women. -Under our mattresses there were thick litters made of a mass of branches -of oaks and beeches; these subsided with a crackle of dry leaves when we -lay down, and we felt ourselves sink into a little hollow, which kept us -warm.</p> - -<p>"Hoo! hoo-oo-oo! Hoo! hoo-oo-oo!" sang the wind outside, with a voice -like an owl's, as if it were angry, as if it were indignant, then as if -it were complaining and dying.</p> - -<p>When the candle was put out and the cottage was in darkness, came the -sound of a small voice beginning a Breton prayer; it was the voice of a -little girl of four who had been adopted by the family; she was in fact -the child of Gildas by a girl in Plouherzel, begotten during his last -visit to his home.</p> - -<p>A very long prayer, broken by solemn responses of the old grandmother; -all the Saints of Brittany: Saints Corentin and Allain, Saints -Thénénan and Thégonnec, Saints Tuginal and Tugdual, Saints Clet and -Gildas were invoked, and then there was silence.</p> - -<p>Quite near me, the scarcely perceptible breathing of Yves, already sunk -in deep sleep. At the foot of our bed the hens at roost dreaming on -their high perch. A cricket giving out from time to time, in the still -warm hearth, a mysterious little crystal note. And outside, around the -solitary cottage, the continuous noise of the wind: an immense groaning -which swept over all the Breton country: an unceasing pressure which -came from the sea with the night and stirred the country to a monotonous -dark movement, at the hour when the dead appear and ghosts walk.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</a></h4> - - -<p>"Good morning, Yves!"</p> - -<p>"Good morning, Pierre!"</p> - -<p>And we throw open to the light of the morning the shutters of our -cupboard.</p> - -<p>This "Good morning, Pierre!" preceded by a little smile of intelligence, -is said with hesitation, in a shy voice; it is "Good morning, Captain!" -that Yves is accustomed to say, and he is rather disconcerted at finding -himself on awakening, so near me and under the necessity of calling me -by my name. To impose upon the good people of Plouherzel and preserve -the character given me by my borrowed clothes, we had concerted this -show of intimacy.</p> - -<p>The sunshine of yesterday had departed and the high wind of the night -was no more. It was typical Brittany weather and the whole country was -enveloped in the same immense grey cloud. The light was the light of -twilight, and was so pale and wan that it seemed that it had not -strength enough to enter through the little windows of the cottages. Of -distant things one could distinguish nothing; a fine drizzle, like a -watery dust, filled the air.</p> - -<p>We had to make the promised round of visits to uncles, cousins, old -friends of boyhood; and these little homesteads were very scattered, for -Plouherzel is not a village, but a region around a chapel.</p> - -<p>Often we had far to walk, along muddy lanes, between moss-covered banks, -under the vault of old dead beech trees and under the veil of the grey -sky.</p> - -<p>And all these cottages were alike, low, sunk in the earth, gloomy; their -thatched roof, their rough granite walls, made green with scurvy grass, -with lichen and the fresh moss of winter. Within, dark, primitive, with -press-beds protected by pictures of the saints or statues of the Blessed -Virgin.</p> - -<p>We were received everywhere in most cordial fashion, and everywhere we -needs must eat and drink. There were long conversations in Breton, with -which, in my honour, was mingled, with indifferent success, a little -French. It was of the childhood of Yves that these good people loved -most to talk. Dear old men and dear old women recounted with glee the -pranks he used to play; and, by all accounts, they were very numerous.</p> - -<p>"Oh! he was a terrible fellow, you may take our word for it!"</p> - -<p>Yves received these compliments with his big, placid air and drank at -every opportunity.</p> - -<p>The devil-may-care sea-rover was taking shape already, it seemed, in the -heart of the little wild boy; the little Yves, who ran barefoot about -these lanes of Plouherzel, was the unconscious germ of the sailor of -later days, wild, truant, uncontrollable.</p> - -<p>Towards evening, at low tide, we descended, Yves and I, into the bed of -the salt-water lake, into the meadow of brown seaweed. We carried, each -of us, a slice of black bread well buttered, and a large knife for -opening shell-fish. A feast of his boyhood which he wanted to renew with -me: shell-fish eaten raw with bread and butter.</p> - -<p>The sea had receded for many miles, laying bare the vast fields of -seaweed, the deep meadow in which the herbage was brown and briny, with -strange living flowers. All around, granite walls enclosed this immense -pond, and the isle shaped like a couchant beast, stripped to its feet, -disclosed the bottom of its black base. There were many other granite -blocks also, which had been hidden under water at high tide and now were -visible, rising up, with their long trimmings of seaweed hanging like -wet bedraggled hair. On the mournful plain many of them might be seen -scattered all about, in strange attitudes of awakening.</p> - -<p>The cold air was impregnated with the acrid odour of sea-wrack. Night -came on slowly, with silent stealth, and all these large backs of stone -began to take on the appearance of herds of monsters. We took the -shell-fish on the end of our knives and ate them as they were, all -living, with our slices of bread, being both hungry and in haste to be -done before the light should fail.</p> - -<p>"It's not so good as it used to be," said Yves when he had finished -eating. "And somehow it seems to me melancholy here. . . . When I was -little, I remember, there were times when I had the same feeling, but -not so strongly as to-night. Let us go, shall we?"</p> - -<p>Rather surprised by what he said, I replied to him:</p> - -<p>"My poor Yves, I think you are becoming like me!"</p> - -<p>"Like you, do you say?"</p> - -<p>And he looked at me with a long melancholy smile, which revealed to me -new things in him, new and indefinable things. And I realized that -evening that he had in fact, much more than I should have thought, ways -of thinking, ideas, sensations, similar to mine.</p> - -<p>"And do you know," he continued, as if following still the same train of -thought, "do you know there is one thing which troubles me often when we -are far away, at sea or in countries overseas? I scarcely dare to tell -you. . . . It is the idea that I might die perhaps and not be buried in -our cemetery here."</p> - -<p>And he pointed to the steeple of Plouherzel Church, which could be seen -above the granite cliffs in the far distance, like a grey arrow.</p> - -<p>"It is not from any religious feeling, as you will understand; for you -know that I have no love for the clergy. No, it is just an idea that -comes to me, I cannot tell you why. And when I am unhappy enough to -think of this thing, I cease somehow to be brave."</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</a></h4> - - -<p>It was in the evening, after supper, that Yves' mother solemnly -recommended her son to my care. It was a trust that has endured until -now.</p> - -<p>She had understood, with her mother's instinct, that I was not what I -appeared to be, and that I should be able to exercise over the destiny -of her last son a very important influence.</p> - -<p>"She says," translated her daughter, "that you are deceiving us, sir, -and that Yves, too, is deceiving us to please you; that you are not one -like ourselves. . . . And she asks, since you voyage together, if you -will look after him."</p> - -<p>Then the old woman began to tell me the story of Yves' father, a story -which I had heard long before from Yves himself. I listened to it -willingly, nevertheless, recited by this young girl, before the wide -Breton fireplace where the flames danced over a beech log.</p> - -<p>"She says that our father was a very handsome sailor, so handsome that -no one in the country had ever seen so handsome a man walk the earth. He -died, leaving thirteen of us, thirteen children. He died as many sailors -of our country die. One Sunday when he had been drinking he put to sea -at night in his boat, in spite of a strong wind that blew from the -north-west, and he never returned. Like his sons, he was a man without -fear; but his head was not good. . . ."</p> - -<p>And the poor mother looked at her son Yves.</p> - -<p>"She says," continued the daughter, "that my parents lived at Saint -Pol-de-Léon, in Finistère, that Yves was one year old, and that I was -not yet born when our father died, that she then left Saint Pol and -returned to Plouherzel in Goëlo, her native country. My father left his -affairs in great disorder; almost all the money that at one time we had -had been spent in the tavern, and my mother had no longer wherewithal to -feed us. It was then that my two elder brothers, Gildas and Goulven, -left to become ship-boys on ocean-going ships.</p> - -<p>"We have not seen much of them in the country here since their -departure, and yet it cannot be said that they have ceased to care about -us. They many times surrendered their sailors' pay in order to help my -mother to bring us up, us younger ones, Yves, my sister who is here, and -me.</p> - -<p>"But Goulven deserted, sir, more than fifteen years ago, in a fit of -temper."</p> - -<p>"They, too," said the old woman, "are handsome and brave sailors, their -heart is true as gold. . . . But they have their father's head, and -already they have taken to drinking heavily."</p> - -<p>"My brother Gildas," the daughter went on, "served for seven years on -board an American ship engaged in whale fishing in the great ocean. That -voyage made him very rich; but it seems that it is a hard calling, is it -not, sir?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, a hard calling indeed. . . ." I have seen them at work in the -great ocean, these sailors in question, half whale fishers and half -pirates, who pass years in the great swell of the southern seas without -ever touching inhabited land.</p> - -<p>"He was so rich, my brother Gildas, when he returned from this fishing, -that he had a large sack filled full with pieces of gold."</p> - -<p>"He poured them here on to my knees," said the old woman, holding out -the skirt of her dress as if to receive them again, "and my apron was -filled with them. Large golden coins of other countries, marked with all -sorts of heads of kings and birds.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> There were some of them quite new, -with the portrait of a woman wearing a crown of feathers,<a name="FNanchor_2_1" id="FNanchor_2_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_1" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> a single -one of which was worth more than a hundred francs. Never had we seen so -much gold. He gave a thousand francs to each of his sisters and a -thousand to me, his mother, and bought me this little house in which we -live. He squandered the rest in amusing himself at Paimpol and in doing -things which, certainly, were not good. But they are all like that, sir, -you know it better than I. For two months they spoke of none but him in -the town.</p> - -<p>"Then he left us again and we have not seen him since. He is a brave -sailor, sir, is my son Gildas, but he has been ruined as his father was -by his fondness for liquor."</p> - -<p>And the old woman bowed her head sadly as she spoke of this incurable -plague which destroys the families of Breton sailors.</p> - -<p>There was silence for a time, and then she spoke again to her daughter -in an earnest voice, looking at me the while.</p> - -<p>"She asks, sir, if you will make her this promise . . . about my -brother. . . ."</p> - -<p>Her anxious, searching gaze, fixed on me, affected me strangely. It is -no doubt true that all mothers, however far apart in station they may -be, have, in certain hours, the same expression. . . . And now it seemed -to me that this mother of Yves had some resemblance to mine.</p> - -<p>"Tell her that I swear to look after him <i>all my life, as if he were my -brother.</i>"</p> - -<p>And the daughter repeated, translating slowly into Breton:</p> - -<p>"He swears that he will look after him all his life as if he were his -brother."</p> - -<p>The old mother had risen, upright as ever, stern and brusque; she had -taken from the wall a picture of Christ and had advanced towards me, -addressing me as if she wished to take me at my word, there and then, -with naïve, impulsive simplicity:</p> - -<p>"It is on this, sir, that she asks you to swear."</p> - -<p>"No, mother, no!" said Yves, in confusion, trying to interpose, to stop -her.</p> - -<p>But I held out my arm towards this picture of Christ, a little -surprised, a little moved, perhaps, and I repeated:</p> - -<p>"I swear to do what I have said."</p> - -<p>But my arm trembled a little because I foresaw that my responsibility -would be a heavy one in the future.</p> - -<p>And then I took Yves' hand. His head was bowed in thought:</p> - -<p>"And you will do what I tell you, you will follow me . . . <i>brother?</i>"</p> - -<p>And he replied, in a low voice, hesitating, his eyes turned away, but -with the smile of a child:</p> - -<p>"Why, yes . . . of course I will."</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>The Chilean <i>Condors.</i></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_1" id="Footnote_2_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_1"><span class="label">[2]</span></a>The twenty piastre piece of California (the whalers -usually turn their savings into this money).</p></div> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</a></h4> - - -<p>We had not long to sleep that night, <i>my brother and I</i>, in our little -beds in the cupboard.</p> - -<p>As soon as the old cottage cuckoo had announced four o'clock in its -cracked voice, quickly, we had to get up. We were due at Paimpol before -daybreak, to catch there at six o'clock the diligence for Guincamp.</p> - -<p>At half-past four, on this cold winter's morning, the poor little door -opened to let us out; it closed on a last kiss for Yves from his weeping -mother, on a last handshake for me. We set off in the cold rain and the -dark night, and for five years we saw them no more.</p> - -<p>That is what happens in the families of sailors.</p> - -<p>When we were half-way on our road we heard the Angelus sounding behind -us at Plouherzel. We thought we were late and began to run. Our faces -were bathed in perspiration when we reached Paimpol.</p> - -<p>But we had been mistaken; the hour of the Angelus had been put -forward.</p> - -<p>We found a refuge in a tavern already open, where we had breakfast with -some Icelanders and other seafaring folk.</p> - -<p>And on the night of the same day, at eleven o'clock, we arrived back in -Brest to put to sea once more.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV</a></h4> - - -<p>I was aware that I had accepted a heavy responsibility in adopting this -refractory brother, the more so because I took my oath very seriously.</p> - -<p>But fate separated us on the second day following, and soon we were half -the world apart.</p> - -<p>Yves set sail for the Atlantic, and I left for the Levant, for -Stamboul.</p> - -<p>It was not until fifteen months later, in May, 1877, that we met again -on board the <i>Médée</i>, which was cruising between India and China.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">On board the <i>Médée</i>, May, 1877.</p> - - -<p>"This suits me as gaiters suit a rabbit," said Yves, with a boyish air, -as he contemplated his pagoda sleeves and his blue robe of Burmese silk.</p> - -<p>It was at Yé, a Siamese town, on the Bay of Bengal. He was sitting in -the background of a sailors' tavern on a stool of Chinese design.</p> - -<p>He was very drunk, and after he had smiled thus to see himself clothed -in the fashion of a Chinese mandarin, his eyes became dull and -lustreless, his lip curled and disdainful. At such moments there was -nothing he might not do, as in his bad days of old.</p> - -<p>By his side was big Kerboul, also a foresail topman, who had just had -brought to him fifteen glasses of a very expensive Singapore liquor, and -had drained them one after the other, breaking them afterwards with -blows of his fist, in the deadly serious way characteristic of the -drunken Breton. And the debris of these fifteen glasses covered the -table on which now he had put his feet.</p> - -<p>And Barrada, the gunner, was there too, handsome and calm as usual, -smiling his feline smile. The topman had invited him, exceptionally, to -their feast. And Le Hello also, and Barazère, and half a dozen others -of the mainsail and four of the bow-sprit—all attitudinizing, with -superb airs, in their Eastern robes.</p> - -<p>And even Le Hir was there, a half-witted fellow from the island of Sein, -whom they had brought as a laughing-stock, and who was drinking refuse -mixed with his bowl of rum. And, to complete the tale, two sea-rovers, -two blacklisted, deserters from every flag, old acquaintances of Yves', -who had found them, that evening, on the beach and, out of kindness, -brought them along.</p> - -<p>It was to celebrate the feast of Saint Epissoire, the patron saint of -the topmen, that they had foregathered here, and custom required that I -should put in an appearance among them, as navigating officer.</p> - -<p>For a year past they had not put foot on land. And the Commander, who -was well satisfied with his crew, had permitted them, as being the most -meritorious, to celebrate as in France the anniversary of their patron -saint. He had selected this town of Yé, because it seemed to him the -least dangerous for us, the people there being more inoffensive than -elsewhere and more easily appeased.</p> - -<p>In this room, which was large and low-pitched, with paper walls, there -was, at the same time as us, a band of sailors from an American -merchantship, who were drinking with sandy-haired, long-toothed women -escaped from the brothels of British India.</p> - -<p>And these intruders annoyed the topmen who wanted to be alone and let -them see it.</p> - -<p><i>Eleven o'clock.</i> The candles had just been renewed in the coloured -lanterns, and outside the Siamese town was asleep in the warm night. -Inside one felt that trouble was brewing, that arms and fists were -itching for a fight.</p> - -<p>"Who are these fellows?" said one of the Americans, who spoke with a -Marseilles accent. "Who are these Frenchies who come here to lay down -the law? And that one who is with them"—this was meant for -me—"the youngest of them all, who gives himself airs and seems -to be in command?"</p> - -<p>"That one," said Yves, with the air of one who did not deign to turn his -head, "that one—any one who touches him will need to be a man!"</p> - -<p>"That one!" said Barrada. "Do you want to know who he is? Wait a moment -and we will tell you, without troubling him to speak for himself; and -you will see, my boys, <i>if that will enlighten you!</i>"</p> - -<p>Yves had already hurled at them his Chinese stool, which had burst the -wall just above their heads, and Barrada, with a first blow, had knocked -over two of them. The others overthrown in turn on top of the first two, -all struggling on the ground. Kerboul began to belabour the mass -unmercifully with his table, scattering over his enemies the debris of -his fifteen glasses.</p> - -<p>Then we heard outside the sounding of gongs and the ringing of bells, -rustlings of silk and shrill little laughs of women.</p> - -<p>And the dancing-girls entered. (The topmen had asked for -dancing-girls.)</p> - -<p>The fighting stopped when they appeared, for they were strange to see. -Painted like Chinese idols, covered with gold and glistening stones, the -eyes half-closed, looking like little white slits, they advanced into -our midst with the smiles of dead women, holding their arms in the air -and spreading out their slender fingers, the long nails of which were -enclosed in golden sheaths.</p> - -<p>At the same time came perfumes of balm and incense; little sticks had -been set alight in a warming-dish, and an odorous, languorous smoke -spread in a blue cloud.</p> - -<p>The gongs sounded louder now and the phantoms began to dance, keeping -their feet motionless, executing a kind of rhythmic movement of the -stomach with twistings of the wrists. Always the same set smile, the -same white mask of death. It seemed that the only life there was in them -was concentrated in their rounded hips and arched stomachs which moved -with lascivious wrigglings; and in the rigid arms, the disturbing -outspread hands which writhed unceasingly.</p> - -<p>Le Hello who, for some time past, had been asleep on the floor, hearing -the loud sounding of the gongs, woke up, startled.</p> - -<p>"Why, you fool, it's the dancing-girls!" explained Barrada, jeering, -laughing at him.</p> - -<p>"Oh! yes! the dancing-girls!"</p> - -<p>He got up and with his large paw, which groped in the air, uncertain, he -tried to beat down these upraised arms and these gilded claws, -stuttering, thick-voiced.</p> - -<p>"It's not good, you white faced guy, it's not good to move your hands -like that, it's vulgar. . . . I think it's . . . I think it's . . . -damnation!" And he sank to the floor again and went to sleep.</p> - -<p>Barrada, who also this evening had drunk more than was usual with him, -reproached them for their yellow skin and told them about his, which was -white. "White! White! White!" He insisted over and over again on this -whiteness, which as a matter of fact he much exaggerated, and proceeded -presently to show it to them. First his arm, then his chest. "Look!" he -said. "Is it not true?"</p> - -<p>The little yellow dolls of Asia continued their slow, lugubrious, -beast-like wrigglings, preserving always the mystery of their rictus and -of their white elongated eyes. And now Barrada, completely nude, was -dancing before them, looking like a Greek marble which had suddenly -taken life for some ancient bacchanal.</p> - -<p>But the Burmese ladies, wound up like automata, danced on and on for -long after he was tired. And presently, when all was over and the gongs -were silent, the sailors were seized with fear at the idea that these -women, paid for their pleasure, were waiting for them. One after another -they slunk away in the direction of the shore, not daring to approach -them.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI</a></h4> - - -<p>This Barrada, who had "wangled" things so that he sailed for a third -time on the same ship with us, was the great friend of Yves.</p> - -<p>An illegitimate child, born and reared in the open on the quays of -Bordeaux. Very vicious, but with a good heart; full of contrasts, -certain elementary notions of human dignity were entirely wanting in -him; it was his pride to be better-looking than the others, more agile, -stronger, and a more artful "wangler." ("Wangler" and "wangling" are two -words which resume in themselves almost the whole life of the navy; they -have no academic equivalent.)</p> - -<p>In return for payment, Barrada taught on board every kind of exercise in -vogue among sailors: boxing, single-stick, fencing, with gymnastics into -the bargain, and singing and dancing. Supple as a clown; the friend of -all the travelling strongmen who posed in the studios of sculptors; -fighting for money in mountebank shows.</p> - -<p>An outstanding personality at the sailors' feastings, but always as a -guest, drinking freely, but never paying; drinking freely, but never -beyond his capacity, and passing through all sorts of revelry, without -losing his upright carriage, his smile, or his freshness.</p> - -<p>He was always ready with a mocking repartee which would never have -occurred to anyone else; his Gascon accent rendered his sallies more -comical; and then he used to punctuate his phrases with a kind of noise -that was peculiarly his own; a half laugh which sounded in his deep -chest like the hoarse yawning of a lion.</p> - -<p>Withal, honest, grateful, obliging to everyone, and faithful to his -friends; unequivocal in speech and answering always with the -disconcerting frankness of a child.</p> - -<p>And yet making money by any and every means, even by his beauty when the -occasion offered. And that, naïvely, with his unspoilt good nature, in -such a way that the others, who knew it, pardoned him as they would one -more like a child than themselves. Yves contented himself with saying:</p> - -<p>"That's not good, Barrada, I assure you . . ." and loved him none the -less.</p> - -<p>And all this was amassed, was condensed as it were in the form of large -pieces of gold sewn about his waist in a leathern belt. And its object -was to enable him, after his five years' re-engagement, to marry a -little Spanish dressmaker at Bordeaux, who worked in a large shop in the -Passage Sainte Catherine; a refined little workwoman whose photograph he -always carried with him, a photograph showing her in profile with a -fringe and an elegant fur toque trimmed with a bird's wing.</p> - -<p>"What can one do! She was my little sweetheart when I was a boy," he -used to say, as if it was necessary to make an excuse.</p> - -<p>And, while he was waiting for this little sweetheart, he abandoned -himself to many others, deliberately often, but sometimes in sheer -goodness of heart in the manner of Yves, because he shrank from giving -pain.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">AT SEA, <i>May, 1877.</i></p> - - -<p>For two days now, the great sinister voice had been groaning round us. -The sky was very dark. It was like the sky in that picture in which -Poussin has tried to paint the deluge; only all the clouds were moving, -tormented by a wind that awakened fear.</p> - -<p>And this great voice continued to swell, growing deeper, incessant; it -was like a fury which was becoming exasperated. In our progress we ran -into enormous masses of water which came on in white-crested volutes and -passed as if in pursuit one of another; they rushed upon us with their -full force; and then there were mighty shocks and great dull sounds.</p> - -<p>Sometimes the <i>Médée</i> reared, mounted over them, as if she, too, in -turn, was seized with fury against them. And then she descended again, -head first, into the treacherous hollows which lurked behind; she -touched the bottom of these kinds of valleys which opened rapidly -between high walls of water; and then made haste to climb once more, to -escape from between these curved, glistening, greenish walls, which -threatened to overwhelm her.</p> - -<p>An icy rain streaked the air with long white arrows, whipping, stinging, -like the blows of a lash. We had drawn nearer the north, in advancing -along the Chinese coast, and the unexpected cold bit into us.</p> - -<p>Aloft, in the rigging, they were trying to take in the topsails already -close hauled; the stormsail was already hard to carry and now, it was -necessary, at any cost, to make head against the wind, on account of the -doubtful countries which lay behind us.</p> - -<p>For two long hours the topmen were at work, blinded, lashed, stung by -all that fell over them, sheets of spray from the sea, sheets of rain -and hail from the sky; trying, with hands cramped with cold and -bleeding, to take in the stiff wet canvas which bellied in the furious -wind.</p> - -<p>But one saw nothing, heard nothing.</p> - -<p>It was difficult enough merely to prevent oneself from being swept away, -merely to hold fast to all these moving, wet and slippery things—but -they had besides to work high up in the air on their yards which, -swaying, had sudden, irregular movements, like the last beating of wings -of a great wounded bird in its death-throes.</p> - -<p>Cries of pain came from aloft, from this kind of hanging bunch of human -grapes. Cries of men, hoarse cries, more ominous than those of women, -because one is less accustomed to hear them; cries of horrible -suffering: a hand caught somewhere, fingers jammed, from which the flesh -was torn as they were drawn away—or maybe, some unfortunate fellow, -less strong than the others, numbed with cold, who felt that he could -hold out no longer, that his head was beginning to swim, that he was -about to let go and fall. And the others, out of pity, bound him and -tried to lower him to the deck.</p> - -<p>For two hours this lasted; they were exhausted, beat; flesh and blood -could do no more.</p> - -<p>Then they were ordered down, and in their place were sent up the men of -the larboard watch, who had been resting and were not so cold.</p> - -<p>They came down, pale, wet, with icy water streaming down their chest and -down their back, hands bleeding, nails torn, teeth chattering. For two -days they had lived in water, had scarcely eaten, had scarcely slept, -and their vitality was at an ebb.</p> - -<p>It is this long watching, this long labour in the damp cold, which are -the true horrors of the sea. Often poor fellows die, who, before they -utter their last cry, their last sob of agony, have remained for days -and nights wet through, dirty, covered with a muddy coating of cold -sweat and salt, with a kind of veneer of death.</p> - -<p>And still the wind increased. There were times when it whistled, shrill -and strident, as in a paroxysm of evil exasperation; and others again, -when its voice became deep, cavernous, powerful as the immense sounds of -cataclysm. And we continued to leap from wave to wave, and, save for the -sea which preserved still its unholy whiteness of foam and froth, -everything was becoming darker. A glacial twilight was falling upon us; -behind these dark curtains, behind all these masses of water which -climbed to the sky, the sun had disappeared at its due hour; it -abandoned us, and left us to find our way as best we could in the -darkness. . . .</p> - -<p>Yves had climbed with the larboard men into the disarray of the rigging, -and then I kept my eyes aloft, blinded myself also, and only seeing -momentarily now the human cluster in the air.</p> - -<p>And, suddenly, in a lurch more violent than any that had gone before, -the silhouette of this group was broken brusquely and changed its form; -two bodies broke away from it and fell with outspread arms into the -roaring volutes of the sea, while another crashed on the deck, without a -cry, falling as a man might who was already dead.</p> - -<p>"The foot-rope broken again!" said the officer of the watch, stamping -his foot with rage. "Some rotten rope which they gave us in that damned -port of Brest! Big Kerboul in the sea. And the other one, who was he?"</p> - -<p>Others, clinging to ropes, swung for some moments in the void and then -climbed, hand over hand, very rapidly, as monkeys might.</p> - -<p>I recognized Yves as one of the climbers, and breathed again.</p> - -<p>They threw out life-buoys as a matter of course for those who were in -the sea. But what was the use? The hope rather was that we should not -see them reappear, for if we did, on account of the danger of getting -broadside on to the rollers, we should not have been able to stop to -rescue them and should have needed the horrible courage to abandon them. -But a roll was called of those who remained in order to find out the -name of the second who had been lost: he was a very steady little -apprentice, whom his mother, a widow well on in years, had commended to -the care of the boatswain before the departure from France.</p> - -<p>The other, the one who had crashed on the deck, they carried below as -best they could, with great difficulty, letting him fall again on the -way; and lay him in the infirmary which had become a foul sink in which -swirled two feet of filthy, dark water, with broken bottles and odours -of all sorts of spilt remedies. Not even a place where he might die in -peace, for the sea had no pity on the sufferer; it continued to make him -dance, to toss him more than ever. A kind of sound came now from his -throat, a rattling which persisted for some little time, lost in the -great uproar of things. One might have been able to succour him perhaps, -to prolong his agony, with a little calm. But he died there quickly -enough, in the hands of the sick-berth attendants who had become stupid -with fear, and tried to make him eat.</p> - -<p><i>Eight o'clock at night.</i> At this time the responsibility of the watch -was heavy and it was my turn to take it.</p> - -<p>We carried on as best we might. We could see nothing now. We were in the -midst of so much noise that the voices of the men seemed no longer to -have any sound; the blasts of the whistles, blown with full might, came -faintly, like the flute-like pipings of very small birds.</p> - -<p>We heard terrible blows struck against the sides of the ship, as by some -enormous battering-ram. And everywhere and always great hollows opened, -gaping wide; we felt ourselves being hurled into them, head lowered, in -the pitch darkness. And then a force struck us with a brutal strength, -carrying us high into the air, and the Médée vibrated in its whole -being, as it were, like a monstrous drum. In vain then we tried to hold -fast; we were forced to let go and quickly cling more strongly to -something else, shutting our mouths and eyes as we did so, because we -knew by instinct, without seeing, that it was the moment when a great -mass of water would sweep through the air and maybe sweep us away with -it.</p> - -<p>And this went on continuously, these headlong plunges, followed by these -leaps with their accompanying terrifying drum-like sounds.</p> - -<p>And, after each of these shocks came again the streaming of water -pouring in from all sides; the sound of a thousand things breaking, a -thousand fragments rolling in the darkness. And all this prolonged in a -sinister trail the horror of the first concussion.</p> - -<p>And the topmen and my poor Yves, what were they doing aloft? We could -see the masts, the yards, now and then in the darkness, in silhouette, -when the smarting pain caused by the hail allowed us to open our eyes -and look; we could see the shapes of the great crosses, with double -arms, after the fashion of Russian crosses, rocking in the darkness with -movements of distress, with crazy gestures.</p> - -<p>"Bring them down," said the Commander, who preferred the danger of the -unfurled sail to the fear of losing more of his men.</p> - -<p>I gave the order quickly, with a feeling of relief. But Yves, from -aloft, replied to me with the help of his whistle, that they had almost -finished; that they had only to replace one gasket which was broken, by -a makeshift knot, and then they would all come down, having taken in -their sail and completed their work.</p> - -<p>Afterwards when they were all down I breathed more freely. No one now -aloft, nothing more to be done up there, nothing to be done now but to -watch and wait. Then it seemed to me that the weather was almost fair, -that it was almost comfortable on this bridge, now that I was relieved -of the heavy weight of my anxiety.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII</a></h4> - - -<p><i>Midnight.</i> The end of the watch; the hour when we could go and seek -shelter.</p> - -<p>Below, in the padded gun-room, one saw another aspect of the tempest, -the grim reality of the misery it caused in the entrails of the ship.</p> - -<p>Seen from end to end it was a kind of long dark hall dimly lighted by -flickering lanterns. The big guns, supported on their mountings, -remained more or less in position by virtue of their lashings of iron -cables. And this whole place was in motion; it had the movements of a -thing which is shaken in a sieve, shaken without respite, without mercy, -perpetually, with a blind rage; it creaked everywhere, it trembled like -an animate thing in pain, racked, exhausted, as if it were about to -burst and die.</p> - -<p>And the great waters outside, for ever seeking to enter, penetrated here -and there in little streams, in sinister spoutings.</p> - -<p>You were lifted up so quickly that your knees gave way—and then -suddenly things slipped from under you, sank beneath your feet—and you -descended with them, stiffening in spite of yourself, as for a kind of -resistance.</p> - -<p>There were shrill, discordant, alarming noises which came from all -round; all this framework in the form of a fish which was the <i>Médée</i> -was loosening little by little, and groaning under the terrible strain. -And outside, on the other side of the wooden wall, always the same -immense deep sound, the same deep voice of horror.</p> - -<p>But all held fast nevertheless. The long gun-room remained intact, one -saw it still from end to end, sometimes tilted, half-overturned, -sometimes rising almost upright in a concussion, looking longer still in -this darkness in which the lanterns were lost, seeming to change its -shape and grow larger, in all this noise, as if it were some vague place -of dreamland.</p> - -<p>On the low ceiling were hung interminable rows of canvas pockets, -swollen all of them by their heavy contents, looking like the little -pockets which spiders hang to walls—grey pockets enclosing each a human -being, the sailors' hammocks.</p> - -<p>Here and there one saw an arm hanging out, or a bare leg. Some slept -peacefully, exhausted by their labours; others moved restlessly and -talked aloud in bad dreams. And all their hammocks swung and jostled one -another in a perpetual movement, and sometimes came in violent collision -and heads suffered.</p> - -<p>On the floor, beneath the hapless sleepers, was a lake of dark water -which swirled this way and that, carrying with it soiled articles of -clothing, pieces of bread and biscuit, spilt porridge, every sort of -debris and unclean refuse. And from time to time came men, pale, -exhausted, half-naked, shivering in their wet shirts, who wandered -beneath these rows of grey hammocks, seeking theirs, seeking their poor -little suspended bed, the only place where they might find a little -warmth, a little dryness, and what would have to serve for rest. They -stumbled as they passed, holding on to anything that offered to prevent -themselves from falling, and bumping their heads against those who -slept. Every man for himself in times such as this; none cared what -happened to another. Their feet slipped in the pools of water and filth; -they gave no more thought to their dirtiness than animals in distress.</p> - -<p>A suffocating reek filled the gun-room; all this filth which slid about -the floor gave the impression of a lair of sick beasts, and one smelt -the acrid stench which is peculiar to the hold of a ship in times of bad -weather.</p> - -<p>At midnight, Yves, in turn, descended into the gun-room with the other -men of the larboard watch; their spell of duty had been extended for an -hour on account of the necessity for securing the boats. They slid down -through the half-opened hatchway which closed upon them, and mingled -with this floating misery below.</p> - -<p>They had spent five hours at their rough work, rocked in the void, -lashed by the furious winds above, and soaked to the skin by the -stinging rain which seared their faces. They made a grimace of disgust -as they entered this closed place where the atmosphere savoured of -death.</p> - -<p>And Yves said, in his big disdainful way:</p> - -<p>"It's those Parisians<a name="FNanchor_3_1" id="FNanchor_3_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_1" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> again, I'll bet, who have made this place -stink."</p> - -<p>They were not ill, these fellows who were real sailors: their lungs were -still filled with the wind of the masthead, and the healthy fatigue -which they had just endured assured them now of a wholesome sleep.</p> - -<p>They stepped on the rings, on the angle-blocks, on the ends of the -gun-carriages, with precaution, in order to avoid the dirty water and -the filth—placing their bare feet on any projection that offered, using -the precarious footholds of cats. Near their hammocks they undressed, -hung up their caps, hung up their large leather-chained knives, their -soaked clothing, hung up everything and hung up themselves; and when -they were stripped they brushed off with their hands the water which -trickled still down their muscular chests.</p> - -<p>After that, they raised themselves to the ceiling with the lightness of -acrobats, and stretched themselves, against the white beams, in their -narrow little canvas beds. Overhead, above them, after each shock, one -heard what seemed the passage of a cataract: the waves, the great masses -of water which swept the bridge. But the row of their hammocks assumed -nevertheless the slow swinging motion of the neighbouring rows, grinding -on the iron hooks, and they slept soundly in the midst of the mighty -uproar.</p> - -<p>Soon, around Yves' hammock, the Burmese women came and danced. In the -midst of a cloud of incense, rendered more murky by his dream, they came -one after another with their dead smile, in strange silken costumes, -covered with glistening stones.</p> - -<p>They swayed their haunches slowly, to the sound of the gong, their hands -upraised in the air, their fingers outspread, like so many phantoms. -They twisted their wrists in epileptic movements, and their long nails -enclosed in the golden sheaves became entangled.</p> - -<p>The gong—it was the tempest which sounded it, outside, against the -sides. . . .</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_1" id="Footnote_3_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_1"><span class="label">[3]</span></a>"Parisian" is a term of insult as used by sailors; it -means: no sailor, a weakling, a sick man.</p></div> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX</a></h4> - - -<p>I, too, at midnight, when my watch was over and I had seen Yves descend, -returned to my room to try to sleep. After all, the fate of the ship -concerned us now no longer, me no more than them. We had done our spell -of watching and of work. We might sleep now with that absolute freedom -from care which one has at sea when the hours of duty are finished.</p> - -<p>In my own room, which was on the bridge, there was no lack of air—on -the contrary. Through the broken panes the wind and the furious rain -entered freely: the curtains twisted themselves into spirals and mounted -to the ceiling with the sound of wings.</p> - -<p>Like Yves, I hung up my wet clothes. The water streamed down -my chest.</p> - -<p>Although my little bed could scarcely be said to be comfortable I fell -quickly asleep nevertheless, worn out by fatigue. Rolled, shaken, half -thrown out of bed, I felt myself swung from right and from left, and my -head bumped against the wood, painfully. I was conscious of all this in -my sleep, but I slept on. I slept on and dreamt of Yves. Seeing him fall -during the day had left me with a kind of uneasiness, as if some -sinister thing had brushed against me in passing.</p> - -<p>I dreamt I was lying in a hammock, as formerly during my first years at -sea. Yves' hammock was near mine. We were swinging violently and his -became unhooked. Beneath us there was a confused movement of something -dark which it seemed to me was deep water, and he, Yves, was about to -fall into it. I stretched out my hands to save him, but they seemed to -have no strength, they were nerveless as in dreams. I tried then to -seize him round the body, to knot my hands about his chest, remembering -that his mother had entrusted him to me; and I realized with anguish -that I could not do it, that I was no longer capable of it; he was going -to slip from me and to disappear in all this moving blackness which -roared beneath us. . . . And then, what struck me with a horror of fear, -was that he did not waken and he was icy cold, with a cold which -penetrated me also, to the marrow of my bones; and the canvas of his -hammock had become rigid like the sheath of a mummy. . . .</p> - -<p>And I felt in my head the real concussions, the real pain of all these -shocks, I mixed the real with the imaginary of my dream, as happens in -conditions of extreme fatigue, and on this account the sinister vision -assumed all the more intensity and life.</p> - -<p>Afterwards, I lost consciousness of everything, even of the movement and -noise, and then only did my rest begin.</p> - -<p>When I awoke it was morning. The first light was of that yellow colour -which is peculiar to the sunrise on days of tempest; and the roaring of -the wind persisted still.</p> - -<p>Yves came and opened my door a little and looked in. He propped himself -in the doorway, holding on by one hand, bending his body now this way -and now that, according to the needs of the moment, in order to preserve -his equilibrium. He had put on again his damp clothes, and was covered -with sea salt which was deposited in his hair, in his beard, in the form -of a white powder.</p> - -<p>He smiled, looking very calm and good-humoured.</p> - -<p>"I wanted to see you," he said, "for I dreamt about you a lot in the -night. All night long I saw those good Burmese ladies with their long -golden nails, you know. They surrounded you with their evil monkeyings, -and I could not drive them away. At last they wanted to eat you. -Fortunately the réveillé sounded then; I was in a cold sweat when I -awoke."</p> - -<p>"And I, too, am very glad to see you, my dear Yves, for I have dreamt a -lot about you also. Is it as rough as yesterday?"</p> - -<p>"Perhaps a little more manageable. And, anyhow, it's day. As long as -it's light, you know, it's always easier to work at the masthead. But -when it's as black as the devil's pit, as last night, I don't like it at -all."</p> - -<p>Yves glanced with satisfaction all round my room, arranged by him in -anticipation of bad weather. Nothing had budged, thanks to his -contrivance. On the floor there was indeed a pool of salt water in which -divers things floated; but the objects to which I attached more or less -value had remained suspended or fixed, like furniture, to the panels of -the walls by bolts or angle-irons. Everything had been corded, tied, -secured with an extreme care by means of tarred rope of various -thicknesses. Arms and bronzes had been wrapped in articles of clothing -in a strange higgledly-piggledly. Japanese masks with long human hair -gazed at us through a network of tarred thread; they had the same remote -smile, the same tilting of the eyes as the golden-nailed Burmese women -who, in Yves' dream, had wanted to eat me. . . .</p> - -<p>A bugle-call suddenly, brisk and joyful: the summons to "wash deck!"</p> - -<p>The bugle sounded a little thin, a little silvery, in the formidable -bellowing of the wind.</p> - -<p>To wash the deck when the seas were breaking over it might seem a -somewhat senseless operation to people who live on land. But we found -nothing very extraordinary in it; it was done every morning, without -fail and in all circumstances; it is one of the primordial rules of life -at sea. And Yves left me saying, as if it was the most natural thing in -the world:</p> - -<p>"I must be off to my washing station."</p> - -<p>Nevertheless the bugle had sinned by excess of zeal, and sounded without -order, at its usual hour; for this morning the deck was not to be -washed.</p> - -<p>One felt that things were more manageable, as Yves had said; the -movements were longer, more regular, more like the rollings of the -swell. The sea was less angry, and the deep, heavy-sounding concussions -were less frequent.</p> - -<p>And then it was day—a vile day, it is true, with a strange livid -yellowness, but day nevertheless, less sinister than the night.</p> - -<p>Our hour, it seemed, had not yet come, for on the second day following -we ran into calm water, in a port in China, at Hong Kong.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;"><i>September</i>, 1877.</p> - - -<p>The <i>Médée</i> had been homeward bound for many a day.</p> - -<p>Wind and current had favoured her. She sailed rapidly, so rapidly, for -days and nights on end, that one lost the notion of places and -distances. Vaguely we had seen pass the Straits of Malacca, taken in our -course; the Red Sea, ascended under steam in a blaze of sunlight; then -the point of Sicily, and at last the great couchant lion of Gibraltar. -Now we are watching the horizon and the first land, which may appear at -any moment, will be the land of Brittany.</p> - -<p>I had joined the <i>Médée</i> only during the latter part of the voyage -and, this time, my tour with Yves will have lasted less than five -months.</p> - -<p>Amid the grey expanse little white lines now appear; then a tower with -dark little islets scattered about: all this still very distant and -scarcely visible in the dull wan daylight which envelopes us.</p> - -<p>We might imagine without any trouble that we were still at the other -side of the world, in that extreme Asia which we have lately left; for -things on board have not changed, nor faces either. We are still -encumbered with Chinese knick-knacks; we continue to eat fruits gathered -on the other side and still green; we carry with us odours, savours of -China.</p> - -<p>But no; our house has been translated very quickly; this tower and these -islets are the Pierres-Noires; Brest is there, quite near us, and before -night we shall have anchored there.</p> - -<p>Always an emotion of remembrance, when this great roadstead of Brest -appears, imposing and solemn, and these great sailing ships which one -rarely sees elsewhere. All my first impressions of the navy, all my -first impressions of Brittany—and then, too, it is France.</p> - -<p>There is the <i>Borda</i> beyond; as I look at it, I can see again in my -mind's eye the desk over which I have pored in long hours of study; and -the blackboard on which I wrote feverishly, before the examination, the -complicated formulæ of mechanics and astronomy.</p> - -<p>Yves at that time was a small boy with a very serious and thoughtful -air, a little round-faced Breton apprentice, who dwelt in the near-lying -ship, the <i>Bretagne</i>, the neighbour and companion of the <i>Borda.</i> We -were children then—to-day we are grown men—to-morrow . . . old -age—the day after, death.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI</a></h4> - - -<p>Sunday, a day of great "boozing" in Brest.</p> - -<p><i>Ten o'clock.</i> A calm night, with a moonlit, tranquil sea; on board the -Médée the sailors have finished singing their endless songs and -silence has supervened.</p> - -<p>Since the fall of darkness my eyes have been turned in the direction of -the lights of the town. I am awaiting with uneasiness the return of the -cutter of which Yves is in charge: it went ashore and has not returned.</p> - -<p>At last I see its red light approaching, two hours late!</p> - -<p>The sea is sonorous at night; in the distance I can hear cries mingling -with the sound of the oars; strange things seem to be happening in the -cutter.</p> - -<p>She has scarcely come alongside when three drunken petty officers, in a -state of fury, hasten on board and demand of me the head of Yves:</p> - -<p>"He must be put in irons straightway; he must be tried and shot -afterwards, for he has struck his superior officers."</p> - -<p>Yves was standing there, trembling from the conflict in which just now -he was engaged. These three petty officers have fought with him, or at -any rate have tried to make him fight.</p> - -<p>"They wanted to put me in the wrong!" he said disdainfully; and he swore -that he had not returned the blows of the three men; for that matter he -could have knocked all three of them over with his open hand. No; he let -them lay hold of him and pull him about; they scratched his face and -tore his clothes into ribbons, because he refused to allow them to take -charge of the cutter, drunk as they were.</p> - -<p>All the crew of the cutter were drunk also, by the fault of Yves, who -had allowed them to drink.</p> - -<p>And the three petty officers remained standing there, quite near him, -continuing to shout, to revile, to threaten, three old drunkards, -grotesque in their stuttering fury, very ridiculous if discipline, that -implacable thing, had not been on their side to make the scene terribly -grave.</p> - -<p>Yves, upright, his fists clenched, his hair over his forehead, his shirt -torn, his chest all bare, tried almost beyond endurance by these -insults, itching to strike, appealed to me with his eyes, in his -distress.</p> - -<p>Oh! discipline, discipline! There are times when it is harsh indeed. I -am the officer of the watch and it is contrary to all rules that I -should interfere except to speak non-committal words, and to hand them -all over to the justice of the ship's police.</p> - -<p>Contrary to all rules, however, I leap down from the bridge and throw -myself on Yves—it was none too soon!—I pass my arms round his arms, -and thus restrain him at the very moment when he is about to strike.</p> - -<p>And I fix my eyes on the others, who then, in the presence of this turn -in the situation, beat a retreat in the manner of dogs before their -master.</p> - -<p>Happily it is dark—and there are no witnesses. Only the cutter's crew -and they are drunk—and, moreover, I am sure of them: they are good -fellows all and if it is necessary to go before a courtmartial, they -will not bear witness against us.</p> - -<p>Then I take Yves by the shoulders and passing in front of his three -enemies, who fall back to let us pass, I lead him to my room and lock -him in. There for the moment he is safe.</p> - -<p>I am summoned before the Commander who has been awakened by the noise. -Unfortunately I have to explain the matter to him.</p> - -<p>And I explain, extenuating as much as possible the fault of my poor -Yves. I explain; and then, for some mortal minutes, I beg; I believe -that never in my life had I begged before, it seems to me that it is no -longer I who am speaking. And all I can say and all I can do breaks down -against the cold logic of this man who holds in his hands the very -existence of Yves, which has been entrusted to me.</p> - -<p>I have, however, succeeded in removing the gravest of the matters, the -question of striking a superior officer; but the insults remain and the -refusal to obey. Yves has done these things: in substance, the charges -are unfair and revolting; in the letter, they are true.</p> - -<p>He is ordered to be put in irons at once, to begin with, and to be sent -below under guard, on account of the disturbance and scandal.</p> - -<p>Poor Yves! An unrelenting fatality has pursued him, for, this time, he -was not really culpable. And this misfortune came upon him at the very -time when he was becoming steadier, when he was making great efforts to -give up drinking and behave himself.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII</a></h4> - - -<p>When I returned to my room to tell him that he was to be put in irons, I -found him sitting on my bed, his fists and teeth clenched with rage. His -passionate Breton temper had got possession of him.</p> - -<p>Stamping his foot, he declared that he would not go—it was too -unjust!—unless they carried him by force, and that he would kill the -first man that came to take him.</p> - -<p>Then I saw that he was lost indeed, and my heart ached for him. What -could be done? The guard was there, outside my door, waiting to lead him -away and I dared not open; seconds and minutes passed and I could find -no pretext for further delay.</p> - -<p>An idea came to me, suddenly: I entreated him very gently, in the name -of his mother, reminding him of my oath and, for the second time in my -life, calling him brother.</p> - -<p>Yves wept. It was over; he was vanquished and docile.</p> - -<p>I threw some water over his forehead, adjusted his shirt a little and -opened my door. All this had not lasted three minutes.</p> - -<p>The guard appeared. He rose and followed, meek as a child. He looked -back and smiled at me, went and replied with calmness to the -interrogatory of the Commander, and proceeded peacefully to the hold to -be put in irons.</p> - -<p>About midnight, when this arduous watch was over, I went to bed, sending -to Yves a blanket and a cloak. (For the nights already were cold.) And -this in my helplessness was all that I could now do for him.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII</a></h4> - - -<p>The next day, a Monday, the Commander sent for me early, and I entered -his room with a feeling of resentment in my heart, with bitter words -ready on my lips, which I would have uttered at the outset in revenge -for my supplications of yesterday, if I had not feared to aggravate -Yves' lot.</p> - -<p>I was mistaken, however: he had been touched the previous night and had -understood me.</p> - -<p>"You may go to your friend. Give him a good talking to, but say that I -pardon him. The affair will go no farther and will be put right by a -simple disciplinary punishment. He will remain eight days in irons, and -that will be all. I inflict on the three petty officers, at your -instance, the equivalent punishment of eight days' close arrest. I do -this for you, who look upon him as a brother, and for his sake also, -for, after all, he is the best man we have on board."</p> - -<p>And I went away with feelings very different from those with which I had -come, regarding him indeed with gratitude and affection.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV</a></h4> - - -<p>A corner of the hold of the <i>Médée</i>, in all the disarray of laying up. -A lantern illumines a vast medley of heterogeneous objects more or less -nibbled by rats.</p> - -<p>A dozen or so sailors—Barrada, Guiaberry, Barazère, Le Hello, all the -little band of friends—are grouped about a man lying on the floor. It -is Yves in irons, stretched on the damp boards, his head supported on -his elbow, his foot in the padlocked ring of the "bar of justice."</p> - -<p>The most implacable of his three enemies. Petty Officer Lagatut, stands -before him, threatening him in his old drunken voice. He threatens him -with revenge for that affair of the cutter, in which, to his mind, I had -taken too large a part.</p> - -<p>He has quitted his close arrest to come and abuse him—and I, whose -watch it is and who am making a round, enter from behind and find him -there—the old rogue is very neatly caught! The sailors who saw me -enter, chuckle quietly in their sleeves, in anticipation of what is -about to happen. Yves makes no reply, contenting himself with turning -over and presenting his back to his tormentor with supreme insolence. -For he, too, had seen me enter.</p> - -<p>"We have begun a game of écarté together," said Petty Officer Lagatut; -"you, Kermadec, boatswain; I, Lagatut, chief gunner, decorated with the -Legion of Honour. Thanks to certain officers who protect you, you have -taken the first two tricks: it remains to see who is going to take the -three others."</p> - -<p>"Petty Officer Lagatut," said I from behind, "we will play a -three-handed game, if you are agreeable: a game of <i>rams</i>, that will -be more amusing. And you, my good Yves, take another trick."</p> - -<p>A chicken finding a knife, a thief who stumbles against a policeman, a -mouse, which, by inadvertence, puts its paw on a cat, have not a longer -face than Petty Officer Lagatut at that moment.</p> - -<p>This little pleasantry of mine was not perhaps in the best of form. But -the gallery, which was very friendly to us, greatly enjoyed this triumph -of Yves.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV</a></h4> - - -<p>Eight days afterwards our frigate was completely disarmed and laid up in -a remote part of the dockyard, the crew was paid off and the <i>Médée</i> -might be described as a dead ship.</p> - -<p>I was going away, and Yves accompanied me to the railway. The station -was crowded with sailors; all those of the <i>Médée</i> who also were -leaving; and others again who, taking French leave, had come to see them -off.</p> - -<p>Amongst them were many old acquaintances of ours, protégés and friends -of Yves. And all these good fellows, rather tight, doffed their caps and -bade us good-bye with effusion. It was a scene such as is usual when a -ship is paid off; for a ship which finishes in this way is something -apart; it marks the end of so many acquaintances, so many rancours, so -many hates, so many sympathies.</p> - -<p>At the entrance to the waiting-room, as I gripped Yves' hand, I said to -him:</p> - -<p>"You will write to me at any rate?"</p> - -<p>And he replied:</p> - -<p>"I was going to explain to you," and he hesitated still, with an -amiable, shamefaced smile. "Well, here goes! I was going to explain to -you that I do not know what to put at the beginning."</p> - -<p>And it was true that the appellations "Captain, Dear Captain," and -others of the same kind, would scarcely any longer do. What should it -be, then? I replied:</p> - -<p>"Why, but that's very simple," and I cast about for a long time for this -simple thing and could not find it. "That's very simple. Put . . . put: -'My dear brother'; that will be true in the first place, and, for the -purpose of a letter, very suitable."</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI</a></h4> - - -<p>It was about six weeks after the <i>Médée</i> had been laid up at Brest and -I had separated from Yves, when one day, at Athens, I think, I received -this surprising letter:</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 45%;">"BREST, <i>15th September</i>, 1877.</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"MY DEAR BROTHER,—I write you these few words, in haste to let you know -that I got married yesterday. And, you may be sure, I would have asked -your advice in advance, but, you must understand, I had no time to lose -having been named to join the <i>Cornélie</i>, and having only eight days -before me to spend with my wife.</p> - -<p>"I think that you will find, you also, my dear brother, that this is -better than being always moving about, as you know, from one ship to -another. My wife's name is Marie Keremenen; I may tell you I am very -proud of her and think we shall get on very well together if only I can -settle down.</p> - -<p>"I will write you a longer letter before I leave, my dear brother, and I -can assure you I am very sad at the idea of embarking without you.</p> - -<p>"I end by embracing you with all my heart.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 45%;">"Your loving brother,</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 55%;">"YVES KERMADEC.</p></blockquote> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>"P.S.—I have just learnt that my destination is altered; I am embarking -on the <i>Ariane</i> which does not leave until the middle of November. That -gives me nearly two months to spend with my wife. We shall have good -time in which to get to know one another, and you may be sure I am very -pleased."</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>On their return from their voyages, sailors are wont to do all sorts of -stupid things with their money; it is a thing excused by tradition. And -seaport towns have reason to know their rather wild eccentricities.</p> - -<p>Sometimes, even, they marry, by way of pastime, the first woman that -offers in order to have an occasion for donning a black coat.</p> - -<p>And Yves, who had already in times past exhausted all kinds of -foolishness, he, too, for a change, had finished by marrying.</p> - -<p>Yves married! And to whom in heaven's name? Perhaps some shameless hussy -of the town, picked up by chance in an hour when he was tipsy!</p> - -<p>I had good reason to be uneasy, remembering a certain creature in a -feathered hat whom he had been on the point of marrying for a -lark—when he was twenty—in this same town of Brest.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII</a></h4> - - -<p>Two months later, when the <i>Ariane</i> was about to depart, fate decreed -that I, too, should be appointed, at the last moment, to join its staff.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII</a></h4> - - -<p>At the moment of leaving I saw this Marie Keremenen, whom I had half -dreaded to meet. She was a young woman of about twenty years of age, -dressed in the costume of the village of Toulven, in lower Brittany.</p> - -<p>Her fine dark eyes were clear and frank. Without being absolutely -pretty, she had a certain charm in her embroidered bodice, her white -wide-winged head-dress, and her large collarette recalling a Medici -ruff.</p> - -<p>There was about her something candid, something wholesome which it did -you good to see. It seemed to me that she was exactly what I should have -looked for if it had fallen to me to choose for my brother Yves.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX</a></h4> - - -<p>Chance had brought the two together, one day when she was on a visit to -her godmother in Brest.</p> - -<p>The lover lost no time, and she, won over by Yves' manly air, by his -honest, winning smile, had been induced to consent—not without a -certain uneasiness, nevertheless—to this precipitate marriage, which -was going, for a start, to make her a widow for some seven or eight -months.</p> - -<p>She had a little fortune as they say in the country, and was going to -return, as soon as we had left, to her parents' home in her village of -Toulven.</p> - -<p>Yves confided to me that they were expecting the arrival of a child.</p> - -<p>"You will see," he said. "I bet that he will arrive just in time for our -return."</p> - -<p>And he embraced his wife, who was weeping. We departed. Once more we -were going to cruise in the blue domain of the flying fish and dorados.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">15<i>th November</i>, 1877.</p> - - -<p>On the day before we sailed, Yves had obtained a special permission to -go ashore during the day in order that he might see, in the naval -hospital, his eldest brother, Gildas, the fisher of whales, who had just -arrived in a half dead condition, and whom he had not seen for ten -years.</p> - -<p>Gildas Kermadec was a man of about forty, tall, with features more -regular than Yves'. In his eyes there was still a kind of dead fire. He -must at one time have been exceedingly handsome.</p> - -<p>He was paralysed and dying, destroyed by alcohol and excess of all -kinds; he had lived a life of pleasure, sown his wild oats, and spent -his strength on all the world's highways.</p> - -<p>He came forward slowly, leaning on a stick, upright and well-set still, -but dragging a leg, and with haggard eyes.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Yves!" he said, and he repeated it three times: "Oh, Yves! Oh, -Yves!"</p> - -<p>It was scarcely articulate; for he was paralysed in speech also. He -opened his arms to embrace Yves and tears ran down his bronzed cheeks.</p> - -<p>There were tears in Yves' eyes also. . . . And then, quick, it was time -to go. The leave that had been given him was only for an hour.</p> - -<p>For that matter, Gildas found nothing more to say. He had made Yves sit -down beside him on a hospital bench, and, holding his hand, looked at -him with bewildered eyes that were near to dying. At first indeed he did -try to say many things which seemed to press in his head; but there -issued from his lips only inarticulate sounds, hoarse, deep, painful to -hear. No, he could speak no more; and he contented himself with holding -Yves' hand and gazing at him with an infinite sadness.</p> - -<p class="center">. . . . . . . . . .</p> - -<p>Yves carried away a profound impression of this last interview with his -brother Gildas. They had only seen each other twice since Gildas had -gone to sea. But they were brothers, brothers of the same cottage and of -the same blood, and in that there is something mysterious, a bond which -nothing can break.</p> - -<p>A month later, at our first place of call, we learnt that Gildas was -dead. And Yves put a band of mourning on his woollen sleeve.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 55%;">On board the <i>Ariane, May</i>, 1878.</p> - - -<p>The island of Teneriffe appears before us like a kind of large pyramidal -edifice, placed on an immense reflecting mirror which is the sea. The -rugged sides, the gigantic ridges of the mountains are brought near, in -little, by the extreme, unbelievable clearness of the air. One can -distinguish everything: the sharp angles touched with rose, the hollows -touched with blue. And the whole rests on the sea like a picture in a -child's scrap-book, infinitely light, weightless. A sharp line of clouds -pearly-grey in colour cuts Teneriffe horizontally in two, and, above, -the peak rears its great cone bathed in sunlight.</p> - -<p>The gulls are making an extraordinary racket around us; they cry and -beat the air with their white wings in one of those accessions of -frenzy, which seize them sometimes for what reason it is impossible to -say.</p> - -<p><i>Midday.</i> The crew had just finished dinner. The whistle had sounded: -"The port watch will clear away!" And Yves, who was on the port watch on -board the <i>Ariane</i>, came up on deck and approached me, blowing his -whistle softly to assure himself that it was still in good order.</p> - -<p>"What is the matter with the gulls to-day? They were puling all the time -during dinner, did you hear them?"</p> - -<p>To be sure I did not know what was the matter with the gulls. But, since -it was necessary, out of politeness, to make some sort of reply to Yves, -I answered him in this wise:</p> - -<p>That the gulls had asked to speak to the officer of the watch, who to be -precise was myself. They wanted news of their little cousin Pierre -Kermadec; and I had replied to them: "My good sirs, little Pierre -Kermadec, my godson, is not yet born; you are too soon, come back in a -few days' time, when we are at Brest." On that, as you see, they have -departed. Look over there how they have all made off.</p> - -<p>"You have given me a very pretty answer," said Yves, who did not often -smile. "But I tell you, I dreamt much about this again last night and, -do you know, a fear has come to me. It is that it may be a little girl."</p> - -<p>It would indeed be a sad disappointment if the expected godson should -turn out to be a little girl! It would not then be possible to call the -newcomer Pierre.</p> - -<p>This kinship of Yves' little child with the gulls was not of my -invention: "gull" was the name given to the topmen on board the -<i>Ariane</i>, and the name they gave to one another amongst themselves. It -was not surprising, therefore, that my little godson should be deemed a -blood relation of this bird of the sea.</p> - -<p>And so, when we talked of him in our conversations at night, we used -always to say:</p> - -<p>"When will the 'little seagull' arrive?"</p> - -<p>And we never referred to him in any other way.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XLII">CHAPTER XLII</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">BREST, 13<i>th June</i>, 1878.</p> - - -<p>We are staying for to-day at a casual lodging in the Rue de Siam at -Brest, where the <i>Ariane</i> anchored this morning.</p> - -<p>In reply to the advice of his arrival, Yves received from Toulven, from -his wife's father, the following telegram:</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>"Little son born last night. Is going on very -well. Marie also.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 55%;">"CORENTIN KEREMENEN."</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>When night came and we were in bed it was impossible to sleep. I heard -Yves turning in his bed, "going about" as he said in his Breton accent. -At the thought that on the morrow he would be on the road to Toulven to -see his little firstborn, his honest manly heart overflowed with all -kinds of sentiments which were quite new to him.</p> - -<p>Two days after him, I, too, would be due at Toulven for the baptism.</p> - -<p>And he made a thousand and one projects for this ceremony:</p> - -<p>"I hardly dare to say it, but, if you would like, at Toulven, to stay -with us. . . . At my father-in-law's place, you know. . . . To be sure -it is not like the town, as I need not tell you. . . ."</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XLIII">CHAPTER XLIII</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">BREST, 15<i>th June</i>, 1878.</p> - - -<p>In the early morning I set out for Toulven where Yves has been awaiting -me since yesterday.</p> - -<p>The weather is magnificent. Old Brittany is green and decked with -flowers. Along the road are large woods and rocks.</p> - -<p>Yves is waiting for me on the arrival of the diligence which I caught at -Bannalec. Beside him is a girl of eighteen or nineteen, who blushes, -looking very pretty in her large coif.</p> - -<p>"This is Anne," says Yves to me, "my sister-in-law, the godmother."</p> - -<p>There is still some distance between the little town and the cottage in -which they live at Trémeulé in Toulven.</p> - -<p>Some village lads lift my luggage on their shoulders, and I set out to -make my visit to the sea-gull which has just been born; to make the -acquaintance also of this Breton family, into which Yves has entered in -his headlong way without very clearly knowing why.</p> - -<p>What will they be like, these new relations of my brother Yves—and -this new country which is to become his?</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XLIV">CHAPTER XLIV</a></h4> - - -<p>We make our way all three along sunken lanes, which vanish in front of -us under the shade of beech trees and are overgrown with ferns.</p> - -<p>It is evening; the sky is overcast, and in these lanes there is a kind -of night which is perfumed with honeysuckle.</p> - -<p>Here and there, on the roadside, are grey cottages, very old and covered -with moss.</p> - -<p>From one of them comes a lullaby, sung in slow cadence by a voice which -also is very old:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Boudoul, boudoul, galaïchen!<a name="FNanchor_4_1" id="FNanchor_4_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_1" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Boudoul, boudoul, galaïch du!"</span></p> - - -<p>"It is <i>he</i> they are rocking," said Yves, smiling. "Come in!"</p> - -<p>This cottage of the old Keremenen people is half-buried and overgrown -with moss. Above it the oaks and beeches spread their green vault; it -seems as old as the earth of the lanes.</p> - -<p>Inside the light is dim; one sees the press-beds in line with cupboards -along the rough granite of the walls.</p> - -<p>A grandmother in a large white collarette is within, singing beside the -new-born son, singing an air of the time of her own childhood.</p> - -<p>In an old-fashioned Breton cradle, which, before him, had rocked his -forbears, lies the little sea-gull: a fat baby three days old, very -round, very dark, already tanned like a mariner, and sleeping now with -his closed fists under his chin. He has a growth of short hair, which -appears below his bonnet on his forehead, like the coat of a mouse. I -kiss him affectionately, for he is Yves' baby.</p> - -<p>"Poor little sea-gull!" I say as I touch as gently as possible the -little mouse's coat, "he has not so far got many feathers."</p> - -<p>"That's true!" says Yves, smiling. "And look," he added, opening with -infinite precaution the little closed fist and spreading it on his rough -hand. "I have not been very successful: he is not web-footed."</p> - -<p>We are told that Marie Keremenen is lying in one of the beds, the little -perforated wooden door of which has been closed on her, because she has -just fallen asleep; we lower our voices for fear of awakening her, and -Yves and I go out, for we have many things to see to in the village in -view of to-morrow's ceremony.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_1" id="Footnote_4_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_1"><span class="label">[4]</span></a>These words have no meaning in Breton, any more than -"mironton, mirontaine" in the old French lullaby. They were probably -invented by the old woman who sang them.</p></div> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XLV">CHAPTER XLV</a></h4> - - -<p>It seems odd to us to find ourselves performing the formal duties of -citizens in the way of the world in general. At the Mairie, and at the -parish priest's house, we feel very awkward and at moments are hard put -to it not to laugh.</p> - -<p>The little sea-gull is definitely registered in the records of Toulven -under the Christian names of Yves-Pierre—his father's name and mine, in -accordance with the custom of the country. And it is arranged with the -priest that he will await us at nine o'clock to-morrow morning, at the -church, and that there shall be a <i>Te Deum.</i></p> - -<p>"And now let us go straight home," says Yves. "The old man is probably -in already and they will be waiting supper for us."</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XLVI">CHAPTER XLVI</a></h4> - - -<p>The June night was falling slowly, bringing peace and silence over the -Breton countryside. In the sunken lanes it was becoming difficult to -see.</p> - -<p>Old Corentin Keremenen had in fact returned from his work in the fields -and was waiting for us at his door. He had had time even to change his -clothes: he was wearing now his large silver-buckled hat and his -feast-day jacket of blue cloth ornamented with metal spangles and, on -the back, with an embroidery representing the Blessed Sacrament.</p> - -<p>There is an air of joyous movement in the cottage, an air of -celebration. The copper candlesticks are on the table which has been -covered with a handsome cloth. The presses, the stools, the old oak -woodwork shine like mirrors. One guesses that Yves has been busy.</p> - -<p>The candles illumine only the centre of the room, leaving the rest in -gloom. There are movements of large white things which are the -wide-winged coifs and pleated collarettes of the women; but otherwise -the backgrounds are dark; the light dies as it flickers on the granite -of the walls, on the irregular and time-blackened beams which support -the thatch of the roof. This thatch and this rough granite still -preserve in the Breton villages a note of the primitive epoch.</p> - -<p>Supper is served and we take our places, Yves on my left, Anne on my -right.</p> - -<p>It is a plenteous repast: chickens served with different sauces, wheaten -cakes, savoury and sweet omelettes; and wine and golden cider which -foams in our glasses.</p> - -<p>Yves says to me aside in a low voice:</p> - -<p>"He is a very good man, my father-in-law; and my mother-in-law Marianne, -you cannot imagine what a good woman she is! I am very fond of them -both."</p> - -<p>During the evening a girl brings from the village clean starched things -of voluminous dimensions. Anne hastens to conceal them in a press, while -Yves, with a glance of intelligence, says:</p> - -<p>"You see what preparations are being made in your honour!"</p> - -<p>I had guessed what they were: the ceremonial head-dress and the immense, -embroidered, thousand-pleated collarette, with which she was going to -adorn herself for to-morrow's festival.</p> - -<p>And I, on my side, have a number of little packets which I want to bring -out, unperceived, with Yves' help from my trunk: sweets, sugar-plums, a -gold cross for the godmother. But Anne has seen it all from the corner -of her eye and starts to laugh. So much the worse! After all it is -difficult to succeed in making mystery in a dwelling which has only one -door and only one room for everybody.</p> - -<p>Little Pierre, round as ever, a little bronze baby, continues to sleep -in the same position, his closed fists under his chin. Never was a -new-born baby so beautiful and so good.</p> - -<p>When I take my leave of them, Yves gets up also in order to accompany me -as far as the village, where I am going to sleep at the inn.</p> - -<p>Outside, in the sunken lane, under the branches, it is now pitch dark; -we are enveloped by a double obscurity, that of the trees and that of -the night.</p> - -<p>It is a kind of peace to which we are not accustomed, the peace of the -woods. And there is no sea; the country of Toulven is far away from it. -We listen; it seems to us still that we ought to hear in the distance -its familiar sound. But no; all about is silence. Nothing but scarcely -perceptible rustlings in the thick greenery, soft sounds of wings -opening, slight quiverings of birds dreaming in their sleep.</p> - -<p>There is still the perfume of honeysuckle; but, with the night, have -come a penetrating freshness and odours of moss, of earth, of the -dampness of Brittany.</p> - -<p>All this sleeping countryside, all these wooded hills which surround us, -all these slumbering trees, all these tranquillities oppress us. We feel -rather like strangers in the midst of it all, and we miss the sea, the -sea which, after all, is the great open space, the great unconfined -field over which we are accustomed to run.</p> - -<p>Yves suffers these impressions and tells me of them in a naïve way, a -way peculiarly his own, which would scarcely be intelligible to anyone -but me. In the midst of his happiness, an uneasiness troubles him this -evening, almost a regret that he should unthinkingly have fixed his -destiny in this remote little cottage.</p> - -<p>And presently we come upon a calvary, stretching out in the darkness its -two grey arms, and we think of all these old granite chapels which lie -here and there around us, isolated in the beech woods . . . in which the -souls of the dead keep vigil.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XLVII">CHAPTER XLVII</a></h4> - - -<p>On the following day, Thursday, the 16th of June, 1878, in radiant -weather, the baptismal party gets ready in the cottage of the -Keremenens.</p> - -<p>Anne, her back turned towards me in a corner, adjusts her coif before a -mirror, a little embarrassed to be obliged to do so in my presence; but -the cottages of Brittany are not large, and they have no other -separations within than the little cupboards in which one sleeps.</p> - -<p>Anne is dressed in a costume of black cloth, the open corsage of which -is embroidered with different coloured silks and silver spangles; she -wears an apron of blue moire, and, overflowing her shoulders, a white -thousand-pleated collarette which remains rigid like a ruff of the -sixteenth century. For my part, I have put on a uniform with bright gold -facings and, certainly, we shall make a pretty picture presently, arm in -arm, in the green lane.</p> - -<p>In attendance on the baby this morning is a new personage, a very ugly -and very extraordinary old woman, who assumes an air of much importance -and receives general obedience: she is the nurse, it appears.</p> - -<p>"She looks rather like a witch," says Anne, who guesses my thought. "But -she is really a very good woman."</p> - -<p>"Oh! yes, a very good woman indeed," confirms old Corentin. "Her -appearance is not attractive, it is true, but she is attentive to her -religion and in fact, last year, obtained great blessings in the -pilgrimage of Saint Anne."</p> - -<p>Bent double like Hecate, with a nose hooked like the beak of an owl and -little grey eyes rimmed with red, which blink very rapidly in the manner -of those of fowls, she goes this way and that, very busily, in her large -stiff ceremonial collarette; when she speaks, her voice startles like a -sound of the night; you might imagine you heard the brown owl of the -tombs.</p> - -<p>Yves and I at first did not like this old woman's attentions to the -newcomer; but we found consolation in the thought that, for fifty years, -she had been presiding at the birth of children in this region of -Toulven, without having brought harm to any one of them. Quite the -contrary in fact. Besides, she observes conscientiously all the ancient -rites, such as making the little one drink before the baptism a certain -wine in which its mother's wedding ring has been dipped, and many others -which must on no account be neglected.</p> - -<p>In this little cottage, deep-sunken in the ground and very much in -shadow, one sees just as much as is necessary and no more. A little -daylight enters by the door; at the back there is also a dormer Window -sparingly contrived in the thickness of the granite, but the ferns have -invaded it. They are seen, in transparency, like the intricate figurings -of a green curtain.</p> - -<p>At last little Pierre's toilet is finished and without so much as a cry. -I should have liked him better dressed as a little Breton; but no, this -son of Yves is all in white, with a long embroidered robe and bows of -ribbon, like a little gentleman of the town. He looks more vigorous and -browner than ever in this doll's dress; the poor little town babies, who -go to their baptism in similar attire, are not, as a rule, so strong and -lusty.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, I am constrained to recognize that at present he is not a -beauty; probably he will improve as time goes on; but at the moment he -has the bloated look of a new-born kitten.</p> - -<p>Outside, in the fern-clad lane, under the green vault, are moving -already several large white coifs and embroidered cloth bodices similar -to those of Anne. They belong to young women who have come out of -neighbouring cottages and are waiting to watch us pass.</p> - -<p>Anne and I set out, arm in arm. Little Pierre leads the way, in the arms -of the old woman, with the birdlike beak, who hurries on with short -quick steps, waddling strangely like some old hag. And big Yves brings -up the rear, in his wedding clothes, very serious, a little surprised to -find himself at such a ceremony, a little shy, too, at having to walk -alone as custom, however, prescribes that he must.</p> - -<p>In the fine June morning we make our way gaily down the Breton lane; -above our heads the covering of the oaks and beeches sifts little rounds -of light which fall in thousands, like a white rain, through the -verdure. The hanging clematis is intertwined with honeysuckle, and the -birds are singing a welcome to this little sea-gull who is making his -first appearance in the sun.</p> - -<p>We are now in Toulven which is almost a little town. The good people are -at their doors and we pass slowly along the main street on our way to -the church.</p> - -<p>It is very old, is Toulven church. It stands up all grey in the blue -sky, with its tall perforated granite steeple, which in places is -yellowed by lichen. It overlooks a large pond, motionless and -water-lilied, and a series of uniformly wooded hills which form, in the -background, an immemorial horizon.</p> - -<p>All around, an ancient enclosure: the cemetery. Crosses border the -sacred pathway; they emerge from a carpet of flowers, carnations and -white Easter daisies. And in the more neglected parts where time has -levelled the little mounds of turf, there are still flowers for the -dead: silenes, and the foxgloves of the fields of Brittany; the ground -is pink with them. The tombs are thick near the door of the age-old -church, as on the mysterious threshold of eternity; this tall grey thing -rising up here, this steeple uplifted in eager aspiration, it seems as -if it does in fact protest a little against annihilation; in raising -itself into the sky, it appeals, it supplicates; it is like an eternal -prayer immobilized in granite. And the poor tombs buried in the grass -await there, with greater confidence, at this threshold of the church, -the sound of the last trump and the voice of the Apocalypse.</p> - -<p>There, also, no doubt, when I am dead or broken by old age, there also -will they lay my brother Yves; he will give back to the Breton earth his -unbelieving head and the body which he had taken from it. Later again -little Pierre will find there his last resting-place—if the great sea -shall not have kept him from us—and, on their tombs the pink flowers -of the fields of Brittany, the wild foxgloves, the luxuriant grasses of -June, will flourish as they do to-day, in the warm summer sunshine.</p> - -<p>In the porch of the church were all the children of the village looking -very solemn. And the parish priest was there too, awaiting us in his -ceremonial vestments.</p> - -<p>The architecture of the porch was very primitive, and the stones had -been worn by many Breton generations; there were shapeless saints, -carved in the granite, who were aligned like so many gnomes.</p> - -<p>There was a protracted ceremony at the door. The owl-faced old woman had -placed little Pierre in our hands and we held him between us, the -godmother, according to prescribed usage, holding the feet and I the -head. Yves, leaning against a granite pillar, watched us with an air of -reverie, and indeed Anne looked very pretty, in this grey porch, with -her handsome dress and her large ruff, caught in the full light of a ray -of the sun.</p> - -<p>Little Pierre made a slight grimace and passed the end of his tiny -tongue over his lip with an air of distaste, when the salt, the emblem -of the sorrows of life, was put in his mouth.</p> - -<p>The priest recited long <i>oremuses</i> in Latin, after which he said in the -same language to the little seagull: <i>Ingredere, Petre, in domum -Domini.</i> And then we entered the church.</p> - -<p>The saints there, in niches, dressed in the costume of the sixteenth -century, watched little Pierre make his entry, with the same placid and -mystic air with which they have seen born and die ten generations of -men.</p> - -<p>At the baptismal font there was again a very long ceremony and then Anne -and I had to take our places before the screen of the choir, kneeling -like a newly-wedded pair.</p> - -<p>Finally it fell to me to take unaided this son of Yves, whom I was -fearful of breaking in my unaccustomed hands, and, climbing the steps of -the altar with this precious little burden, to make him kiss the white -cloth on which the Blessed Sacrament rests. I felt very awkward in -uniform; it seemed as if I were carrying a weight of great heaviness. I -had not imagined that it would be so difficult to hold a new-born babe; -and yet he was asleep: if he had been moving I should never have been -able to manage it.</p> - -<p>All the children of the village were waiting for us as we came out, -little Bretons with shy looks, round cheeks and long hair.</p> - -<p>The bells sounded joyously from the top of the old grey steeple and the -<i>Te Deum</i> burst out behind us, sung lustily by little choir boys in red -cassocks and white surplices.</p> - -<p>We were allowed to pass, still tranquil and devout, along the flowered -alley bordered by the tombs—but, afterwards, when we were -outside!</p> - -<p>Little Pierre, the cause of all this commotion, had gone on ahead, -carried away more and more quickly by the hook-nosed beldam and sleeping -still his innocent sleep. And the assault fell upon Anne and me: little -boys and little girls surrounded us, shouting and jumping; there were -some of these little girls who could be no more than five years old, and -who yet wore already large collars and large head-dresses similar to -those of their mothers; and they skipped around us like very comical -little dolls.</p> - -<p>It was a strange thing, the joy of these little Breton people, -pink-cheeked with long curls of yellow silk; mere buds of life, and -dressed already in the costume and fashion of olden times—bubbling over -with a heedless joy—as once upon a time their forbears, and they are -dead! Joy of a new overflowing life, joy such as kittens have, and kids, -and, after ten years, they die; puppies and lambkins know this self-same -joy and gambol as these children here—and time passes and they are -killed!</p> - -<p>We scattered among them handfuls of sugarplums, and our whole route was -sown with sweets. The baptism of the little sea-gull will be remembered -in Toulven for many a long year.</p> - -<p>Afterwards, we found once more the quiet of the Breton lane, the long -green alley, and, at the end of it, the primitive hamlet.</p> - -<p>It was now near noon; butterflies and flies made merry in the air all -along our road. The day was very warm for Brittany.</p> - -<p>In broad daylight the roof of the cottage of the old Keremenens was a -veritable garden: a quantity of little flowers, white, yellow and red, -were installed there with a great variety of ferns, and the whole was -sprinkled with sunlight, which filtered through the overhanging oaks.</p> - -<p>Inside it was still cool, in the slightly green half-light, under the -low black roof of the old beams.</p> - -<p>Dinner was on the table, and Yves' wife, who had got up for the first -time, was awaiting us, seated in her place, in her brave holiday dress. -In the course of the last few days, her beauty had deserted her, and she -was pale and thin. Yves looked at her with an air of disillusionment -which did not escape her; and, realizing that this was not as it should -be, he went over to her and kissed her affectionately with rather a -lordly air. And I augured sad things from this glimpse of -disenchantment.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless this baptismal dinner was a gay affair. It consisted of a -great number of Breton dishes and lasted a very long time.</p> - -<p>During the dessert, we heard outside two voices murmuring a kind of -litany very rapidly, in the language of lower Brittany. It was two old -women, two old beggar-women, linked arm in arm and leaning on sticks, in -the manner of the fairies when they take decrepit shape for the purpose -of disguise.</p> - -<p>They asked to be allowed to enter, having come to wish good luck to -little Pierre. At the oaken cradle in which he was being gently rocked -they predicted very fortunate things, and then withdrew with a blessing -for everyone.</p> - -<p>Generous alms were given them, and Anne cut them slices of bread and -butter.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XLVIII">CHAPTER XLVIII</a></h4> - - -<p>In the afternoon there was a scene: my poor brother Yves was tipsy and -wanted to go to Bannalec and take train to rejoin his ship.</p> - -<p>We had wandered some considerable distance and were in a wood, Anne, -Yves, and I, when suddenly, without apparent cause, the idea seized him. -He had turned back and left us, saying that he was going away for good; -and we had followed him in some anxiety fearful of what he might do.</p> - -<p>When, a few minutes after him, we reached the cottage of the old -Keremenens, we found that he had thrown off his fine white shirt and his -wedding clothes, and, stripped to the waist, in the usual style of -sailors on board ship during the morning, he was looking everywhere for -his jersey which had been hidden from him.</p> - -<p>"Good Lord Jesus, have pity on us," Marie, his wife, was saying, joining -her poor white invalid's hands. "How has this happened, Lord? For really -he has drunk but little! Oh, sir, prevent him," she begged, turning to -me. "What will people say in Toulven when he passes, when they see that -my husband will not stay with me!"</p> - -<p>It was a fact that Yves had drunk very little; happiness, no doubt, had -turned his head at dinner, and, what made the matter worse, we had taken -him for a walk in the heat of the sun: it was not altogether his fault.</p> - -<p>Sometimes, though rarely, it was possible to arrest these moods of his -by dint of kindness. I knew that, but I did not feel able to-day to use -this means. For really, it was too bad of him! Even here, in this place -of peace and on this happy day of festival, to introduce a scene of this -kind!</p> - -<p>I said simply:</p> - -<p>"Yves shall not leave!"</p> - -<p>And to bar his way, I stood before the door, buttressing myself against -the old oak mullions which were massive and solid.</p> - -<p>He did not dare to answer me. He moved this way and that, continuing to -look for his sailor's clothes, turning about like a wild beast which is -held captive. He muttered under his breath that nothing would prevent -him from going, as soon as he should have found his sailor's bonnet. But -all the same the idea that he would have to touch me before he could get -out served also to restrain him.</p> - -<p>I, too, was in no very amiable mood, and I felt nothing now of the -affection which had lasted so many years and forgiven so many things. I -saw before me the drunken sea-rover, ungrateful and in revolt, and that -was all.</p> - -<p>Deep down in every man there is always a hidden savage who keeps -vigil—especially perhaps amongst us who have lived on the sea. And it -was the savage in each of us who now confronted one another, who had -just come into collision one with the other, as in our worst days in the -past.</p> - -<p>Outside, all round us, was still the peace of the countryside, the shade -of the oaks, the tranquil <i>green night.</i></p> - -<p>Poor old Keremenen was quite helpless, and the affair came very near to -being utterly odious and pitiful, when we heard Marie weeping; they were -the first tears of her wifehood, urgent, bitter tears, the forerunners, -no doubt, of many others; and sobs which were distressing to hear amid -the silence which we all preserved.</p> - -<p>And presently Yves was vanquished and drew near slowly to embrace -her:</p> - -<p>"Come, come! I am wrong," he said, "and I ask you to forgive me."</p> - -<p>And then he came to me and used a name which he had sometimes written, -but which until then he had never pronounced:</p> - -<p>"You must forgive me again, <i>brother!</i>"</p> - -<p>And he embraced me also.</p> - -<p>Afterwards he begged forgiveness of the old Keremenens, who kissed him -in a fatherly and motherly way; and forgiveness also of his son, the -little sea-gull, as he pressed his lips against the little closed fists -which peeped out of the cradle.</p> - -<p>He was quite sobered and the evil hour had passed; the real Yves, my -brother, had returned; there was as always in his repentance something -simple and childlike which won forgiveness without reserve, so that all -was forgotten.</p> - -<p>He proceeded now to pick his clothes up from the floor, to brush them, -and to dress himself again, without saying a word, miserable, exhausted, -wiping his forehead which was beaded with a cold perspiration.</p> - -<p>An hour later I watched Yves as he stooped, the very figure of an -athlete, over the cradle of his son; he had been rocking him and had -just succeeded in putting him to sleep; and now, little by little, -progressively, with many precautions, he was stopping the movement of -the little oak basket, to leave it at last motionless, seeing that sleep -had indeed come. Then he stooped lower still and gazed intently at his -son, examining him with much curiosity, as if he had never seen him -before, touching his little closed fists, his growth of little mouse's -hair which peeped still from beneath the little white bonnet.</p> - -<p>And as he gazed his face assumed an expression of infinite tenderness; -and the hope came to me that this little child might one day be his -safeguard and salvation.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XLIX">CHAPTER XLIX</a></h4> - - -<p>In the evening after supper, we went for a walk, Anne, Yves and I, a -walk much more peaceful than that of the day.</p> - -<p>And, at nine o'clock, we sat down by the side of a wide road which -traversed the woods.</p> - -<p>It was not yet dark, so prolonged in Brittany are the evenings in the -beautiful month of June; but we began, nevertheless, to talk of phantoms -and the dead.</p> - -<p>Anne said:</p> - -<p>"In winter when the wolves come we can hear them from our home; but -sometimes ghosts, too, utter cries like theirs."</p> - -<p>On this particular evening, however, we only heard the passing of -cockchafers and stagbeetles which flew through the warm air in eccentric -curves, and the small buzzings of summer. And, also, from a distant part -of the wood: "Hoot! . . . Hoot . . ." a mournful call, given out very -softly in the voice of an owl.</p> - -<p>And Yves said:</p> - -<p>"Do you hear, brother? The parakeets of France are singing." (This was -an allusion to the <i>parakeet</i> he had on the <i>Sibylle.</i>)</p> - -<p>The slender grasses, with their flowers of grey dust, spread over the -ground a deep, scarcely palpable covering into which the feet sank, and -the last moths, at the end of their evening's exercise, plunged one -after another into the thickness of this herbage, to take their sleeping -posts on the slender stems.</p> - -<p>And darkness came, slow and tranquil, with an air of mystery.</p> - -<p>Passed a young Breton lad who carried a knapsack on his shoulder. He was -returning rather tipsy from Lannildu, a peacock's feather in his hat. (I -do not know what this has to do with the story of Yves: I relate at -hazard things which have remained in my memory.) He stopped and began to -address us. Finally, by way of peroration, he showed us his knapsack, -saying:</p> - -<p>"Look here! I have two cats in this." (This had no sort of relation to -what he had been saying to us before.)</p> - -<p>He placed his burden on the ground and threw his hat upon it. Thereupon -the knapsack began to <i>swear</i>, with the strong voices of angry tom-cats, -and to move in somersaults along the road.</p> - -<p>When he had convinced us in this way that they were indeed cats, he put -the whole on his shoulder again, saluted, and went his way.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_L">CHAPTER L</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">17<i>th June</i>, 1878.</p> - - -<p>We rose early to go into the woods and gather "luzes" (little blue-black -fruits which are found in the deepest of the thickets, on plants which -resemble the mistletoe).</p> - -<p>Anne no longer wore her gay festival attire: she had put on a large -smooth collarette and a simpler head-dress. Her Breton dress of blue -cloth was ornamented with yellow embroidery: on each side of her bodice -were designs imitating rows of eyes such as butterflies have on their -wings.</p> - -<p>Along the sunken lanes, in the green night, we met women who were going -into Toulven to hear the early morning mass. From the end of these long -corridors of verdure, we saw them coming with their collarettes, their -tall white head-dresses, the sides of which fell symmetrically over -their ears, like the bonnets of the Egyptians. Their waists were tightly -compressed in bodices of blue cloth which resembled the corselets of -insects and on which were embroidered always the same designs, the same -rows of butterfly eyes. As they passed they gave us good-day in Breton -and their tranquil faces wore an expression of primitive times.</p> - -<p>And at the doors of old grey granite cottages which were almost hidden -in the trees, we found old women sitting and minding little children; -old women with long unkempt white hair, in tattered blue cloth cut in -the fashion of long ago, with the remains of Breton embroideries and -rows of eyes: the poverty and primitiveness of olden times.</p> - -<p>Ferns, ferns, all along these lanes—ferns of the most elaborate kind, -the finest, the rarest, which have flourished there in the damp shade, -forming sheaves and carpets—and pink foxgloves, too, shooting up like -pink rockets, and, pinker even than the foxgloves, the silenes of -Brittany, scattering over all this fresh verdure their little -carmine-coloured stars.</p> - -<p>To us, maybe, the verdure seems greener, the woods more silent, the -perfumes more penetrating, to us who live in wooden houses in the midst -of the sound of the sea.</p> - -<p>"It seems to me very pleasant here," said Yves. "A little later on when -little Pierre is big enough for me to lead him by the hand, we will go -together to pick all kinds of things in the woods—and, later again, we -can shoot. To be sure! I will buy a gun, as soon as I have saved a -little money, to kill the wolves. I don't think I shall ever be bored in -this country here."</p> - -<p>I knew well, alas! that sooner or later he would weary of it; but it -served no purpose to tell him so and it was better to let him, as one -lets children, cherish his illusion.</p> - -<p>Besides, he also was about to depart; two days after me, he was due at -Brest, to embark once more. This was only a very brief rest in our life, -this sojourn at Toulven, only a little interlude of Brittany, after -which we must resume once more our business of the sea.</p> - -<p>We were in the heart of the woods. No pathways now, no cottages. Nothing -but a succession of hills following one another into the distance, -covered with beeches, with brushwood, with oaks and heather. And -flowers, a profusion of flowers; the whole countryside was flowered like -an Eden: honeysuckle, tall asphodels with white distaffs and foxgloves -with pink distaffs.</p> - -<p>In the distance, the song of cuckoos in the trees, and, around us, the -humming of bees.</p> - -<p>The berries grew thick here and there, on the stony soil, mingled with -flowering heather. Anne always found the best and gave them to me in -handfuls. And big Yves watched us with a grave smile, conscious that he -was playing, for the first time, a kind of rôle of mentor, and finding -it very surprising.</p> - -<p>The place had a wild air. These wooded hills, these carpets of lichen, -resembled a landscape of olden times, though bearing the mark of no -precise epoch. But Anne's costume was clearly of the Middle Ages and the -impression that one had was of that period.</p> - -<p>Not the gloomy and twilight Middle Ages as understood by Gustave Doré, -but the Middle Ages sunlit and full of flowers, of these same eternal -flowers of the fields of Gaul, which bloomed as now for our ancestors.</p> - -<p>It was eleven o'clock when we returned to the cottage of the old -Keremenens for dinner. It was very warm that summer in Brittany; the -ferns and the little red flowers of the roadside bowed down under the -unaccustomed sun, which exhausted them, tempered though it was by the -green branches.</p> - -<p><i>One o'clock.</i> For me, the hour of departure. I went first of all to -kiss little Pierre, asleep still in his old oaken cradle, as if these -four days had not sufficed him for recovering from the fatigue he had -suffered in coming into the world.</p> - -<p>I bade good-bye to all. Yves, thoughtful, leaning against the door, was -waiting to accompany me as far as Toulven, whence the diligence would -take me to the station at Bannalec. Anne and old Corentin also insisted -on escorting me.</p> - -<p>And, when I saw Toulven disappearing in the distance, its grey steeple -and its mournful pond, my heart contracted. How many years would it be -before I should return to Brittany? Once more we were separating, my -brother and I, and both of us were going away into the unknown. I was -uneasy about his future, over which I saw dark clouds gathering. . . . -And I thought also of these Keremenens whose welcome had touched me. I -asked myself whether my poor Yves, with his terrible failings and his -uncontrollable character, was not going to bring unhappiness upon them, -under their roof of thatch covered with little red flowers.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LI">CHAPTER LI</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;"><i>November</i>, 1880.</p> - - -<p>A little more than two years later.</p> - -<p>Little Pierre was cold. He cried as he clasped his two little hands, -which he tried to hide under his pinafore. He was in a street in Brest, -before daybreak, on a November morning. A fine rain was falling. He -pressed close to his mother who, also, was weeping.</p> - -<p>There, at a street corner, Marie Kermadec was waiting, loitering in the -darkness like some unfortunate. Would Yves come home? . . . Where was -he? . . . Where had he spent the night? In what low tavern? Would he -return to his ship at any rate, when the gun sounded, in time for the -roll-call.</p> - -<p>And other women were waiting also.</p> - -<p>One passed with her husband, a petty officer like Yves; he came out of a -tavern which had just been opened. He was drunk. He tried to walk, -staggered a few steps and then fell heavily to the ground. His head made -a sickening sound as it struck the hard granite.</p> - -<p>"Oh! my God!" wailed his wife. "Jesus, Holy Virgin Mary, have pity on -us! Never have I seen him like this before! . . ."</p> - -<p>Marie Kermadec helped her to get him on his feet again. He was a good -looking man, kindly and serious.</p> - -<p>"Thank you, madam!"</p> - -<p>And his wife contrived to make him walk, supporting him with all her -strength.</p> - -<p>Little Pierre was crying quietly, as if he understood already that -something shameful overshadowed them and that it behoved him not to make -a noise. He bowed his little head and continued to hide under his -pinafore his little hands which were so cold. He was well enough wrapped -up, but he had been standing for a long time, without moving, at this -damp street corner. The gas lamps had just been extinguished and it was -very dark. Poor little plant, healthy and fresh, born in the woods of -Toulven, how came it, to be stranded in the misery of this town? For his -part he saw no sense in the change; he could not understand why his -mother had wanted to follow her husband to this Brest, and to live in a -cold and dismal lodging, at the end of a court, in one of the low-lying -streets abutting on the harbour.</p> - -<p>Another passed; he was struggling with his wife, this one, he was not -going to be taken home. It was a horrible sight. Marie uttered a cry as -she heard the dull sound of a blow struck by a fist; and covered her -face, unable to bear more. Yves at any rate had never done that! But -would it come to that in time? Would it come to pass, one of these days, -that they would sink to this last misery?</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LII">CHAPTER LII</a></h4> - - -<p>Yves appeared at last, walking straight, carrying himself well, his head -high, but his eye lustreless, bewildered. He saw his wife, but pretended -that he did not, throwing on her as he passed an angry, troubled glance.</p> - -<p><i>It was not he</i>—as he used to say himself afterwards, in the -good moments of repentance which still came to him.</p> - -<p>In fact, it was not he: it was the savage beast within him which -drunkenness awakened, when his real self was obscured and submerged.</p> - -<p>Marie refrained from saying a word, not only from uttering a reproach, -but even from an entreaty. It was better not to speak to Yves in these -moments when his head was gone: he would go away again. She knew that; -she was forced into this silence.</p> - -<p>She followed, with downbent head, in the rain, dragging by the hand her -little Pierre who was trying to cry even more quietly now since he had -seen his father, and whose poor little feet were getting wet in the mud -of the gutter.</p> - -<p>How could she let him walk thus? How could she even have brought him out -like this, before daybreak? What was she thinking of? Had she gone mad? -. . . And she picked him up and hugged him to her breast, warming him -against her body, kissing him in passionate affection.</p> - -<p>Yves pretended to pass his door, by way of aggravation—a piteous piece -of brutish foolery—and then looked back at his wife with a stupid smile -which was not good to see, as one who should say: "That was a little -joke of mine, but you see I am going in."</p> - -<p>She followed at a distance, hugging the wall of the dark staircase so as -not to be seen, making herself small, lowly. Happily it was not yet -daylight, and the neighbours no doubt would still be abed, and so would -not be witnesses of this disgrace.</p> - -<p>She followed him into their room and shut the door.</p> - -<p>There was no fire and the room had an air of poverty which smote the -heart.</p> - -<p>When the candle was lit, Marie saw that Yves had again torn his new -clothes, which once already she had mended with so much care; and his -big blue collar was crumpled and stained and his jersey unravelled, the -broken stitches gaping on his chest.</p> - -<p>He walked up and down, turning about like a caged beast, making -confusion, upsetting brusquely things which she had arranged, pieces of -bread which she had saved up.</p> - -<p>And she, having put their child in his cradle and covered him up, -pretended to occupy herself with domestic duties. At times such as these -it was necessary to appear as if nothing had happened; otherwise, if one -seemed to be taking too much thought of him, he would become suddenly -exasperated, like a wild beast which has scented blood; and he would -want to go out again. And when once he had said: "I am going out! I am -going out to join my friends!" out he would go with the obstinacy of a -brute; not force, nor prayers, nor tears were able to restrain him.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LIII">CHAPTER LIII</a></h4> - - -<p>Sometimes Yves would fall suddenly like a log and sleep for several -hours; and then it would be over. This depended on the particular kind -of liquor he had taken.</p> - -<p>At other times he held out, somehow or other, and returned to his ship -in the harbour.</p> - -<p>On this particular morning, at seven o'clock, Yves, a little sobered, -had the idea unprompted of bathing his head in cold water. Then he went -out and took the road to the dockyard.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LIV">CHAPTER LIV</a></h4> - - -<p>Then Marie sat down, broken, utterly powerless, beside the cradle in -which their little son was sleeping.</p> - -<p>Through the curtainless windows a whitish light began to enter, a pale, -pale light which made one feel cold.</p> - -<p>Another day! In the street below could be heard the characteristic sound -of the lower quarters of Brest at the hour of the return to work: -thousands of wooden sabots hammering on the hard granite pavé. The -workers were returning to the dockyard, stopping on their way for one -last drink, in the taverns but just now opened which mingled with the -growing daylight the yellow light of their little lamps.</p> - -<p>Marie remained there, motionless, perceiving with a painful acuteness -all these already familiar sounds of the winter mornings which ascended -from the street, voices husky with alcohol and the rumblings of sabots. -It was in one of those old many-storeyed houses, tall, immense, with -dark yards, rough granite walls as thick as ramparts, sheltering all -sorts of people, workmen, pensioners, sailors; at least thirty families -of drunkards. It was now four months since—on Yves' return from the -Antilles—she had left Toulven to come and live there.</p> - -<p>A growing light entered through the windows, fell on the dirty, -dilapidated walls, penetrated little by little the whole of the large -room in which their modest little household furniture, now in disorder, -seemed lost. Clearly the day had come; and, out of thriftiness, she went -and blew out the candle, and then returned to sit by the window.</p> - -<p>What was she going to do with this new day; should she work? No, she had -not the heart, and, then, what was the use?</p> - -<p>Another day to be passed without a fire, with a heart that was dead, -watching the rain falling, watching and waiting! Waiting, waiting in an -anxiety that grew from hour to hour, waiting for the coming of the -darkness, for the moment when the hammering of the sabots would begin -once more in the grey street below, when the workers' day was done. For -Yves and the other sailors whose ships were in the port were released at -the same time as the workers in the dockyard; and then, every evening, -leaning out of her window, she would watch the flood of humanity pass, -searching, with anxious eyes, among all these groups, looking for him -who had taken from her her life.</p> - -<p>She could recognize him from afar, by his tall figure and his bearing; -his blue collar towered over the others. When she had discovered him, -walking quickly, hastening towards their lodging, it seemed to her that -her poor heart overflowed, that she breathed better; and when she saw -him at last beneath her, entering the old low doorway, she was almost -happy. He had come—and when he was there and had embraced them both, -her and little Pierre, the danger was past, he would not go out again.</p> - -<p>But if he was late, gradually she felt herself wrung with anguish. . . . -And when the hour was passed, and night came and the crowd had dispersed -and he had not returned, oh! then began those sinister evenings she knew -so well, those mortal evenings of waiting which she spent, the door -open, seated in a chair, her hands joined, saying her prayers, her ear -straining at all the sailors' songs which came from outside, trembling -at every sound of footsteps which she heard on the dark staircase.</p> - -<p>And then, very late, when others, her neighbours, were in bed and could -no longer see her, she descended; in the cold, in the rain, she went out -like one possessed to wait at street corners, listen at the doors of -pot-houses where men were drinking still, press her pallid cheek against -the window-panes of taverns.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LV">CHAPTER LV</a></h4> - - -<p>Little Pierre was still asleep in his cradle, making up for the sleep he -had lost in the early morning. And this morning his mother also dozed -near him in her chair, exhausted as she was by fatigue and watching.</p> - -<p>It was broad daylight when she awoke, her limbs numb with cold. And with -returning consciousness came once more the weight of her anxiety.</p> - -<p>Why had she left Toulven? Why did she marry? Daughter of the country as -she was what was she doing in this Brest where people stared at her -peasant's dress? Why had she come to wear in the streets of the town her -large white collarette, often soaked with rain, which in despair, in -utter weariness, she allowed now to hang crumpled and limp on her -shoulders.</p> - -<p>She had done everything she could to reform Yves. He was still so kind, -so good, he was so fond of his little Pierre in his sober hours, that -often she was encouraged still to hope! He had moods of repentance that -were quite sincere and lasted for several days; and those days were days -of happiness.</p> - -<p>"You must forgive me," he used to say, "for you can see that I was not -myself!"</p> - -<p>And she forgave him. Then he would stay at home, and when by chance the -weather was reasonably fine, they dressed little Pierre in his new -clothes, and went for a walk, the three of them, in Brest.</p> - -<p>And then, one fine evening Yves would not return, and all was to be -begun again, and she fell back into despair.</p> - -<p>Things went from bad to worse; the stay at Brest exerted over him the -same influence as it usually does over all sailors. Every week now -almost, the dread thing happened; it was becoming a habit. What room was -there for hope?</p> - -<p>There was no money left in their drawer. What was to be done? Borrow -from these women, her neighbours, who from time to time used to drink -also, and whom she disdained to know! Of that she was ashamed! -Nevertheless she was at her wits' end to know how to hide her distress -from her parents, who knew nothing, and had taken Yves to their heart as -if he had been their own son.</p> - -<p>Very well then, she would tell them, tell them he was unworthy of them. -She was in revolt at last. She would leave him; he had gone too far, and -he had no heart.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LVI">CHAPTER LVI</a></h4> - - -<p>And yet, yes!—something told her that he had a heart, but that he was -just a big boy whom the life of the sea had spoilt. And with a great -tenderness she recalled his handsome, gentle face, his voice, his smile -in those hours when he was sober. . . .</p> - -<p>Abandon him? . . . At the idea that he should go his ways alone, utterly -lost then, and throwing care to the devil, delivered up to his vices and -to the vices of others, to begin again his life of debauchery with other -women, to sail distant seas, and then to grow old alone, forsaken, -exhausted by alcohol! . . . Oh! at this idea of leaving him, she was -seized with an anguish more terrible than all: she felt that she was -bound to him now by a bond stronger than any reason, than any human -will. She loved him passionately, without realizing the strength of her -love. . . . No, rather than that, if she was not able to draw him back, -she would let herself sink with him to the last degradation in order -that she might still hold him in her arms, until the hour of death.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LVII">CHAPTER LVII</a></h4> - - -<p>Little Pierre, for his part, did not like Brest at all. He found it a -most uncomfortable place, ugly and dark.</p> - -<p>He had lived there only for four months, and already his round cheeks -had paled a little under their bronze. Before, they were like those ripe -nectarines of the south country which are of a warm golden colour, a red -stained with sun.</p> - -<p>His eyes were black and shone with the sparkle of jet, like those of his -mother, from between beautiful long eyelashes. In his little eyebrows -there was already a suggestion of seriousness, which came from Yves.</p> - -<p>He would have made a pretty picture, with his thoughtful expression and -the manly and forceful little air which he had already like a grown lad.</p> - -<p>Now and then he had still his moments of noisy gaiety; he jumped and -skipped about the gloomy room, making a great commotion.</p> - -<p>But this did not happen so often as at Toulven. He missed, in his -already vague baby memory, he missed the little playmates of the -beech-bordered lane, and the petting of his grandparents, and the songs -of his old great-grandmother. There, everybody took notice of him, while -here he was nearly always alone.</p> - -<p>No, he did not like the town. And then he was always cold, in this bare -room and on these old stone staircases.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LVIII">CHAPTER LVIII</a></h4> - - -<p>"You must forgive me; you can see that I am not myself."</p> - -<p>When once Yves had said that, the storm was finally over; but it was -often a long time before he said it. When the fit of drunkenness had -passed, for two or three days, he would remain gloomy, depressed, -without speaking; until suddenly, at some quite negligible thing, his -smile would appear once more with an expression of childlike -embarrassment. Then the clouds would break for poor Marie and she would -smile too, a smile of her own, without ever uttering a word of reproach; -and that was the end of the ordeal.</p> - -<p>Once she dared very softly to ask him:</p> - -<p>"But what is the need for sulking for three days, when it is over."</p> - -<p>And he, more softly still, with a naïve half-smile, looking at her -sideways, in obvious embarrassment: "What is the need for sulking for -three days, do you say? Why, Marie, do you think I am pleased with -myself when I have these bouts. . . . Oh! but it's not against you, my -poor Marie, I assure you." Then she came very close to him and leaned -against his shoulder, and he, answering her silent appeal, kissed her.</p> - -<p>"Oh! drink! drink!" he said slowly, averting his half-closed eyes with a -savage expression. "My father! my brothers! Now it's my turn!"</p> - -<p>He had never said anything like this before. He had never alluded to the -terrible vice which possessed him, nor given any sign that he realized -its consequences.</p> - -<p>How was it possible not to have still brief moments of hope seeing him -afterwards so sensible, so dutiful, playing at the fireside with his -son; dropping then all his domineering ways, alert with a thousand -kindly thoughts for his wife, in his effort to make her forget her -suffering?</p> - -<p>And how believe that this same Yves would presently and fatally become -once more that <i>other</i>, the Yves of the bad days, the Yves of the vacant -gaze, the Yves depressed and brutal, the beast bewildered by alcohol, -whom nothing could move? Then Marie surrounded him with tenderness, -concentrated on him all the force of her will, watched over him as over -a child, trembling as she followed him with her eyes whenever he so much -as descended into the street where his blue-collared comrades passed and -where the taverns opened their doors.</p> - -<p>On shore Yves was lost; he knew it well himself, and used to say sadly -that he would have to try to get to sea again.</p> - -<p>He had grown up on the sea, at random, as wild plants grow. It had been -nobody's business to give him notions of duty or conduct, nor of -anything in the world. I alone perhaps, whom fate and his mother's -prayer had put in his way, had been able to speak to him of these new -things, but too late no doubt, and too vaguely. The discipline of the -ship, that was the great and only curb which had directed his material -life, maintaining it in that rude and healthy austerity which makes -sailors strong.</p> - -<p>The <i>shore</i> had for long been for him but a place of passage, where for -a time he was free from restraint and where there were women; he -descended on it as on a conquered country, between long voyages; and he -came well supplied with money and found, in the quarters of pleasure, -everything compliant to his whim and will.</p> - -<p>But to live a regular life in a little household, to reckon up each -day's expenses, to behave himself and have thought for the morrow, his -sailor's ways could no longer adapt themselves to these unexpected -obligations. Besides, around him, in this corrupt, degenerate Brest, -alcohol seemed to ooze from the walls with the unwholesome damp. And he -sank to the depths like so many others, who also once had been good and -brave; he became debased, slipping down little by little to the level of -this population of drunkards; and his excesses became repulsive and -vulgar like those of a workman.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LIX">CHAPTER LIX</a></h4> - - -<p>One day, I received a letter which called me to his assistance.</p> - -<p>It was very simple, very much like a letter from a child:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"MY DEAR BROTHER,—I do not know how to tell you, but it is true, I have -taken to drink again. Also I do not want to remain in Brest, as you will -understand, for I am afraid of this thing.</p> - -<p>"I have already been punished three times with irons in the Reserve, and -now I do not know how to get away from the ship, for I realize that if I -remain on board some misfortune will happen to me.</p> - -<p>"But it seems to me that if I could embark once more with you, that -would be exactly what I need. My dear brother, since you will soon be -going away again, if you would come to Brest and take me with you, it -would be much better for me than here, and I feel sure that that would -save me.</p> - -<p>"You have done me a great wrong in saying in your letter that I did not -love my wife or my son; because for her and little Pierre there is -nothing I would not do.</p> - -<p>"Yes, my dear brother, I have wept and I am weeping now as I write, and -I cannot see for the tears that are in my eyes.</p> - -<p>"I only hope that you will be able to come. I embrace you with all my -heart, and beg you not to forget your brother, in spite of all the -disappointments he has caused you.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 45%;">"Ever yours,</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">"YVES KERMADEC."</p></blockquote> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LX">CHAPTER LX</a></h4> - - -<p>One Sunday in December I returned to Brest unannounced and made my way -into the low-lying quarters of the Grand 'Rue, looking for Yves' house. -Reading the numbers on the doors, I passed all those high granite -buildings which once were houses of the rich and now are fallen into the -hands of the people; below, everywhere open taverns; above, the -curtained windows of poverty, with last sickly flowers on the sills; -dead chrysanthemums in pots.</p> - -<p>It was morning. Bands of sailors were about already, looking very smart -in their clean clothes, singing, beginning already the Sunday holiday.</p> - -<p>One breathed a white mist, a damp coldness—a first sensation of winter. -Newly-arrived as I was from the Adriatic, where the sun was still -shining, the colours of Brest seemed to me greyer than ever.</p> - -<p>At number 154—above the sign: <i>À la pensée du beau canonnier</i>—I -climbed three flights of stairs in an old wide staircase, and came upon -the room of the Kermadecs.</p> - -<p>I could hear through the door the regular sound of a cradle. Little -Pierre, very spoilt in spite of all, had retained this habit of being -rocked to sleep, and Yves, alone with his son, was sitting near him, -rocking the cradle with one hand, very slowly.</p> - -<p>He raised pathetic eyes, moved at seeing me, but hesitating to come to -me, his expression saying:</p> - -<p>"Ah, yes, brother, I know. You have come to take me away; it is true -that this is what I asked of you; but . . . but I did not expect you -perhaps so soon; and to go away . . . that will be very hard to -bear. . . ."</p> - -<p>Physically, Yves had greatly changed. He had become paler, sheltered as -he had been from the tanning of the sea; his expression was different, -less assured, almost mournful. It was plain that he had suffered; but on -his face, marmorean still and colourless, vice had not succeeded yet in -imprinting any trace.</p> - -<p>I looked around with an impression of surprise, and a contraction of the -heart. I had not, in fact, foreseen what the dwelling of my brother -Yves, on shore and in a town, would be like. It was very different from -that sea dwelling in which I had so long known him: the masthead, full -of wind and sun. Here, now, amid this reality of poverty I felt as he no -doubt felt himself, out of place and ill at ease.</p> - -<p>Marie was outside, at the pump, and little Pierre was sound asleep, his -long baby's eyelashes resting on his cheeks. We were alone together and -as he was uncomfortable in my presence, he began hurriedly to talk of -embarking, of departure.</p> - -<p>A change in the list had called me to Brest prepared for immediate -departure: two or three ships were about to be put into commission—for -the China station, for the Southern Seas, for the Levant—and it was -necessary to hold myself in readiness, from hour to hour, for one of -these destinations.</p> - -<p>The week which followed was one of those agitated periods which are -common enough in a sailor's life: living at the hotel as in a flying -camp, amid the disorder of half-unpacked trunks, not knowing to-morrow's -destination; busy with a number of things, official business at the port -and preparations for the voyage;—and then these comings and goings, -applications on Yves' behalf, in order to secure his withdrawal from the -Reserve, and to keep him near me, ready to depart with me.</p> - -<p>The December days, very short, very gloomy, sped quickly. I climbed -often, three steps at a time, the sordid old staircase of the Kermadecs; -and Marie, anxious always about the first words I might say, smiled at -me sadly, with a respectful and resigned confidence, awaiting the -decision I should bring.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXI">CHAPTER LXI</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 45%;">IN THE ROADSTEAD OF BREST,</p> -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">23<i>rd December</i>, 1880.</p> - - -<p>A night in December, clear and cold; a great calm over the sea, a great -silence on board.</p> - -<p>In a little ship's cabin, which is painted white and has iron walls, -Yves is sitting near me amid open trunks and cases. We are still in the -disarray of arrival; we have yet to instal ourselves, to make a little -home, in this iron box which presently is going to carry us through the -waves and storms of winter.</p> - -<p>All the embarcations we had foreseen, all the long voyages we had -projected, had come to nothing. And I find myself simply on board this -<i>Sèvre</i> which is not going to leave the Brittany coast. Yves is among -the crew and we shall be together again, in all human probability, for a -year. Given our calling it is a stroke of good luck; it might have -happened to us at any moment to be separated for ever. And Yves has very -gladly given a hundred francs out of his purse to the sailor who -consented to give up his place to him.</p> - -<p>Let us make the best of this <i>Sèvre</i>, since fate will have it so. It -will remind us at any rate of the times already distant when we sailed -together over the misty northern sea under the protecting eye of the -Creizker tower.</p> - -<p>But I should have liked it better if we had been sent elsewhere, to -somewhere in the sun; for Yves' sake especially, I should have preferred -to be going farther from Brest, farther from his evil companions and the -taverns of the coast.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXII">CHAPTER LXII</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 45%;">AT SEA 25<i>th December, Christmas Day.</i></p> - - -<p>It was the second day following, very early, at daybreak. I came up on -deck, having scarcely slept a moment, after a very trying watch from -midnight to four o'clock: we had been buffeted throughout the night by a -gale of wind and a heavy sea.</p> - -<p>Yves was there, wet through, but in his element and very much at ease; -and, as soon as he saw me appear, he pointed out to me, smiling, a -singular country which we were approaching.</p> - -<p>Grey cliffs walled the distant horizon like a long rampart. A kind of -calm fell upon the waters, although the wind continued to buffet us -furiously. In the sky, dark heavy clouds slid one over the other, very -rapidly: a leaden vault in movement; immense, dark things, which changed -shape, which seemed in haste to pass, to reach a goal elsewhere, as if -seized with the vertigo of some impending and formidable convulsion. -Around us, thousands of reefs, dark heads which rose up everywhere amid -this other silvered commotion made by the waves; they seemed like -immense herds of sea monsters. They stretched as far as eye could see, -these dangerous dark heads, the sea was covered with them. And then, -beyond, on the distant cliff, the silhouettes of three very old towers, -looking as if they had been planted alone there in the midst of a desert -of granite, one of them greatly overtopping the two others, and rearing -its tall figure like a giant who watches and presides. . . .</p> - -<p>Yes! I recognize it well, and, like Yves, salute it with a smile; -somewhat puzzled, nevertheless, to see it reappear so close to us, and -in the midst of this festival of shadows, on a morning when I was not -expecting it. . . . What were we going to do there, in its -neighbourhood? This was no part of our original plan and I could not -understand it.</p> - -<p>It was a sudden decision of the captain, taken during my hour of sleep: -to make for the entrance to the roadstead of Taureau, hard by Saint Pol, -and seek a shelter there from the south wind, the open sea being now too -rough for us.</p> - -<p>And that was how it came about that, on his return to the northern -waters, Yves' first visit was to the Creizker tower.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXIII">CHAPTER LXIII</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">CHERBOURG, 27<i>th December</i>, 1880.</p> - - -<p>At seven o'clock in the morning word is brought to me that Yves, -dead-drunk, is in a boat alongside. Some old friends of his, topmen on -the <i>Vénus</i>, have kept him drinking through the night in low -taverns—to celebrate their return from the Antilles.</p> - -<p>I am of the watch. There is no one yet on deck, save some sailors busy -with their furbishing—but devoted fellows these, known for many a day -and to be counted on. Four men get him aboard, and furtively carry him -down a hatch and hide him in my room.</p> - -<p>A bad beginning, truly, on board this <i>Sèvre</i>, where I had taken him -under my charge as on a kind of probation, and where he had promised to -be exemplary. And the black thought came to me for the first time that -he was lost, beyond redemption, no matter what I might do to save him -from himself. And also this other thought, more desolating still, that -perhaps he was deficient in certain qualities of heart.</p> - -<p>Throughout the day Yves was like a dead man.</p> - -<p>He had lost his bonnet, his purse, his silver whistle, and there was a -dent in his head.</p> - -<p>It was not until about six o'clock in the evening that he showed sign of -life. Then, like a child awakening, he smiled—a sign this that he was -still drunk, for otherwise he would not smile—and asked for food.</p> - -<p>Then I said to Jean-Marie, my faithful servant, a fisherman from -Audierne:</p> - -<p>"Go to the ward-room kitchen and see if you can get him some soup."</p> - -<p>Jean-Marie brought the soup, and Yves began to turn his spoon this way -and that, as if he did not remember which way to hold it:</p> - -<p>"Come on, Jean-Marie, make him eat it!"</p> - -<p>"It is too salty!" said Yves suddenly, lying back, making a wry face, -his accent very Breton, his eyes again half-closed.</p> - -<p>"Too salty! Too salty!" . . .</p> - -<p>Then he fell asleep again, and Jean-Marie and I burst out laughing.</p> - -<p>I was in no frame of mind for laughter, but this notion and this spoilt -child's air were too comical. . . .</p> - -<p>Later, at ten o'clock, Yves came round, got up furtively, and -disappeared.</p> - -<p>For two days he remained hidden in the crews' quarters in the bow of the -ship, only showing himself for his watch and for drill, hanging his -head, not daring to look at me.</p> - -<p>Oh! these resolutions taken twenty times and as many times broken. . . . -We dare not take them again or at any rate dare not say that we have -taken them. The will flags, and the days slip by while we wait inert for -the return of courage and self-respect.</p> - -<p>Slowly, however, we came back to our normal manner of existence. I used -to call him in the evenings and we would walk up and down the deck -together for hours on end, talking almost in the old way, in the -mournful wind and the fine rain. He had still the same fashion of -thinking and speaking as before, very naïve and at the same time very -profound; it was the same, but with just the least suggestion of -constraint; there was something frigid between us which would not thaw. -I waited for a word of repentance which did not come.</p> - -<p>Winter was advancing, the winter of the Channel, which envelopes -everything—thoughts, and men, and things—in the same grey -twilight. The cold dark days had come, and our evening walk was taken at a -quicker pace in the damp wind of the sea.</p> - -<p>There were times when I wanted to grip his hand and say to him: "Come, -brother, I have forgiven you; let us forget all about it." But I checked -the words on my lips; after all it was for him to ask forgiveness; and -there remained a kind of haughty coldness in my manner which kept him at -a distance from me.</p> - -<p>This <i>Sèvre</i> was not a success for us at all, that was clear.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXIV">CHAPTER LXIV</a></h4> - - -<p>Little Pierre is at Plouherzel, trying to play in front of his -grandmother's door—quite lost as he looks at the motionless sheet of -water before him, with the large beastlike shape which seems to be -asleep in the centre, behind a veil of mist. There is free air and open -sky here, to be sure, but the wind is keener than at Toulven, and the -country more desolate; and children feel these things by instinct; in -the presence of things forlorn, they have involuntary melancholies and -silences—as birds have.</p> - -<p>Here now are two little comrades who have come from a neighbouring -cottage to take stock of him, the little new-comer. But they are not -those of Toulven; they do not know the same games; the few little words -which they are able to speak are not of the same Breton. And, therefore, -not venturing much on one side or the other, they remain all three at -gaze, with shy smiles and comical little airs.</p> - -<p>It was yesterday that little Pierre arrived at Plouherzel with Marie -Kermadec. Yves had written to his wife bidding her make this journey as -soon as she could; the thought had come to him suddenly, the hope -indeed, that this might reconcile them with his mother. For the old -woman, always hard and headstrong, after having in the first instance -flatly refused her consent to their marriage, had accepted it -subsequently with bad grace, and, since, had not even troubled to answer -their letters.</p> - -<p>Poor forsaken old woman! Of thirteen children whom God had given her, -three had died in infancy. Of the eight sons who had reached manhood, -all of them sailors, the sea had taken seven—seven who had been lost in -shipwreck, or else had disappeared abroad, like Gildas and Goulven.</p> - -<p>Her daughters, too, had left her. One of them had married an Icelander, -who had taken her away to Tréquier; the other, her head turned by -religion, had entered the convent of the Sisters of Saint Gildas du -Secours.</p> - -<p>There remained only the little grandchild, the forsaken little daughter -of Goulven. And all the old woman's love was centred in her—an -illegitimate child, it is true, but the last survivor of that long -shipwreck which had bereft her, one after another, of the others. This -little child loved to watch the incoming tide from the shore of the sea -water lake. She had been forbidden to do it, but one day she went -thither alone and did not return. The next tide brought in a stiff -little corpse, a little body of white wax, which was laid to rest near -the chapel, under a wooden cross and a mound of green turf.</p> - -<p>She still cherished a hope in her son Yves, the last, the best beloved, -because he had remained the longest at home. . . . Perhaps he, at least, -would return one day to live near her!</p> - -<p>But it was not to be. This Marie Keremenen had stolen him from her; and, -at the same time—a thing which counted in her rancour—she had taken -from her also the money which this son had previously sent to help her -to live.</p> - -<p>And for two years now, she had been alone, quite alone, and would be -alone to her last day.</p> - -<p>In obedience to Yves, Marie had come yesterday, after two days' -journeying, and knocked at this door with her child. An old, -hard-featured woman, whom she recognized at once without ever having -seen her, had opened to her.</p> - -<p>"I am Marie, Yves' wife. . . . How do you do, mother?"</p> - -<p>"Yves' wife! Yves' wife! So this then is little Pierre? This is my -little grandson?"</p> - -<p>Her eye had softened as she looked at the little grandson. She had made -them enter, given them to eat, seen that they were warm and comfortable, -and prepared for them her best bed. But for all that there was a -coldness, an ice which nothing could thaw.</p> - -<p>In the corner, surreptitiously, the grandmother embraced her grandchild -with affection. But before Marie she gave no sign and remained always -stiff and hard.</p> - -<p>Now and then they spoke of Yves, and Marie said timidly that, since -their marriage, he had reformed greatly.</p> - -<p>"Tra la la! . . . Reformed!" repeated the old woman, assuming her -ill-tempered air. "Tra la la! my child! . . . Reformed! . . . He has his -father's head, they are all the same, they are all alike, and you have -not seen the last of it in him; mark my words!"</p> - -<p>Then poor Marie, her heart heavy, not knowing what to reply, nor what -else to say during the long day, nor what to do with herself, waited -impatiently for the time fixed by Yves for their departure. Very surely -she would not return.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXV">CHAPTER LXV</a></h4> - - -<p>At Paimpol Marie, with her son, has climbed into the diligence which -moves off and is bearing them away. Through the door she watches her -mother-in-law who has had the grace to accompany them from Plouherzel to -see them off, but who has said good-bye briefly and coldly, a good-bye -to chill the heart.</p> - -<p>She watches her and is puzzled; for the old woman is running now, -running after the diligence—and her face, too, is working; she seems to -be making some kind of grimace. What can she want of them? And as she -watches Marie becomes almost afraid. For she is grimacing still. And -see! now she is crying! Her poor features are quite contorted, and her -tears fall fast. . . . And now she understands!</p> - -<p>"For the love of heaven! stop the diligence, sir, if you please," says -Marie to an Icelander, who is sitting near her and who, too, has -understood; for he passes his arm through the little window in front and -pulls the conductor by the sleeve.</p> - -<p>The diligence stops. The grandmother, who has continued to run, is at -the back, almost on the step; she stretches out her hands to them, and -her face is bathed in tears.</p> - -<p>Marie gets down and the old woman throws her arms round her, embraces -her, embraces little Pierre.</p> - -<p>"My dear child! may God in His goodness be with you."</p> - -<p>And she weeps and sobs.</p> - -<p>"My child, with Yves, you know, you must be very gentle, you must take -him by the heart; you will see that you can be happy with him. Perhaps -I was too hard with his poor father. God bless you, my dear daughter!"</p> - -<p>And there they stand, united in the same love for Yves, and weeping -together.</p> - -<p>"Now then, my good women!" cries the conductor, "when will you have -finished rubbing noses?"</p> - -<p>They had to drag them apart. And Marie, seated once more in her corner, -watches as she draws away, with eyes filled with tears, the old woman, -who has sunk down, sobbing, on a milestone, while little Pierre waves -good-bye with his plump little hand from the window.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXVI">CHAPTER LXVI</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">1<i>st January</i>, 1881.</p> - - -<p>In the heart of the docks at Brest, a little before dawn, on the first -morning of the year 1881. A mournful place, these docks; the <i>Sèvre</i> -has been moored there now for a week.</p> - -<p>Above, the sky has begun to brighten between the high granite walls -which enclose us. The lamps, few and far between, shed in the mist their -last meagre yellow light. And already one may discern the silhouettes of -formidable things which are taking shape, awakening ideas of a grim and -cruel rigidity; machines high perched, enormous anchors upturning their -black arms; all sorts of vague and ugly shapes; and, in addition, -laid-up ships, with their outline of gigantic fishes, motionless on -their chains, like large dead monsters.</p> - -<p>A great silence prevails and a deadly cold. There is no solitude -comparable with that of a naval dockyard at night, especially on a night -of holiday. As the time approaches for the gun to sound the signal to -cease work, everybody flees as from a place of pestilence; thousands of -men issue from every point, swarming like ants, hastening towards the -gates. The last of them run, actuated by a fear lest they should arrive -too late and find the iron gates closed. Then calm descends. Then night. -And there is no longer a soul, no longer a sound.</p> - -<p>From time to time a patrol passes on his round, challenged by the -sentries, giving in a low voice the password. And then the silent -population of rats debouches from all the holes, takes possession of the -deserted ships, the empty yards.</p> - -<p>On duty on board since the previous day I had got to sleep very late, in -my icy, iron-walled room. I was worried about Yves, and the songs, the -shoutings of sailors which came to me in the night from the distance, -from the low quarters of the town, filled me with foreboding.</p> - -<p>Marie and little Pierre were to make their journey to Plouherzel in -Goello, and Yves had wanted, nevertheless, to spend the night on shore -in Brest, to celebrate the New Year with some old friends. I could have -stopped him by asking him to stay and keep me company; but the coldness -between us persisted; and I had let him go. And this night of the 31st -December is of all nights perhaps the most dangerous, a night when Brest -gives itself up wholly to a riot of alcohol.</p> - -<p>As I climbed on deck, I saluted rather sadly this first morning of the -New Year, and I began the mechanical promenade, the hundred paces of the -watch, thinking of many past things.</p> - -<p>And especially I thought of Yves, who was my present preoccupation. -During the last fortnight, on this <i>Sèvre</i>, it seemed to me that the -affection of this simple brother who had long been the only real friend -I had in the world, was slowly, hour by hour, drifting from me. And -then, also, I was angry with him for not behaving himself better, and it -seemed to me, that, for my part, too, I loved him less. . . .</p> - -<p>A black bird passed above my head, uttering a mournful croaking.</p> - -<p>"Good luck to you!" said a sailor who was making his morning ablution in -cold water. "Here's some one come to wish us a happy New Year! . . . You -ugly croaker! Anyhow, you are a sign that better things are to follow."</p> - -<p>Yves returned at seven o'clock, walking very straight, and answered the -roll-call. Afterwards he came to me, as usual, to wish me good morning.</p> - -<p>I quickly saw, from his eyes slightly dulled and his voice slightly -altered, that he had not been as abstemious as he should. And I said to -him in the tone of a curt order:</p> - -<p>"Yves, you will not return to shore to-day."</p> - -<p>And then I affected to speak to others, conscious that I had been unduly -severe and none too pleased with myself.</p> - -<p><i>Midday.</i> The dockyard, the ships are emptying, becoming deserted as on -days of holiday. Everywhere the sailors may be seen on their way out for -the day, all very smart in their clean Sunday clothes, brushing off with -eager hand the least trace of dust, adjusting for one another their -large blue collars. Walking briskly they soon reach the gates and press -forward into Brest.</p> - -<p>When it comes to the turn of those on the <i>Sèvre</i> Yves appears with the -others, well brushed, well washed, and very bare about the neck, in his -best clothes.</p> - -<p>"Yves, where are you going?"</p> - -<p>He gave me an angry glance such as I had not had from him before. It -seemed to defy me and I read in it still the fever and bewilderment of -alcohol.</p> - -<p>"I am going to join my friends," he said. "Sailors from my country, whom -I have arranged to meet, and who are expecting me."</p> - -<p>Then I attempted to reason with him, taking him aside, obliged to say -what I had to say very quickly, for time pressed, obliged to speak low -and to maintain an appearance of complete calm, for it was necessary -that the others who were standing quite near us should not know what was -passing. And I began to feel that I had taken a wrong road, that I was -no longer myself, that my patience was exhausted. I spoke in the tone -which irritates and does not persuade.</p> - -<p>"I am going, I am going, I tell you," he said at the end, trembling, his -teeth clenched. "Unless you put me in irons to-day, you will not stop -me."</p> - -<p>He turned away, defying me to my face for the first time in his life, -and moved to rejoin the others.</p> - -<p>"In irons? Very well then, Yves; in irons you shall be."</p> - -<p>And I called a sergeant-at-arms, and gave him out loud the order to lead -him away.</p> - -<p>Oh! the glance he gave me as he turned away, obliged to follow the -sergeant-at-arms who prepared to take him below, before all his fellows, -to descend into the hold in his brave Sunday clothes! He was sobered, -assuredly; for his gaze was penetrating and his eyes were clear. It was -I who hung my head under this expression of reproach, of sorrowful and -supreme amazement, of sudden disillusion and disdain.</p> - -<p>And then I went back to my room.</p> - -<p>Was it all over between us? I thought it was. This time I had lost him -indeed.</p> - -<p>I knew that Yves, with his obstinate Breton character, would not return; -his heart, once closed, would never open again.</p> - -<p>I had abused my authority over him, and he was of those, who, before -force, rebel and will not yield.</p> - -<p>I had begged the officer on duty to let me continue in charge for this -day, not having the courage to leave the ship—and I continued my -endless walk up and down the deck.</p> - -<p>The dockyard was deserted within its high walls. There was no one on -deck. The sound of distant singing came from the low-lying streets of -Brest. And, from the crew's quarters below, the voices of the sailors of -the watch calling at regular intervals the <i>Loto</i> numbers with the -little jokes usual among sailors, which are very old and always gain a -laugh.</p> - -<p>"—22, the two quartermasters out for a walk!"</p> - -<p>"—33, the legs of the ship's cook!"</p> - -<p>And my poor Yves was below them, at the bottom of the hold, in the dark, -stretched on the floor in the cold, with his foot in an iron ring.</p> - -<p>What should I do? . . . Order him to be set free and sent to me? I -foresaw perfectly well how this interview might turn out: He standing -before me, impassive, sullen, his bonnet, respectfully doffed, braving -me by his silence, his eyes downcast.</p> - -<p>And, if he refused to come—and he was quite capable of this in his -present mood—what then? . . . How could I save him from the -consequences of such a refusal of obedience? How could I then extricate -him from the mess I should have made between our own private affairs and -the blind rules of discipline?</p> - -<p>Now, night was falling and Yves had been nearly five hours in irons. I -thought of little Pierre and of Marie, of the good folk of Toulven, who -had put their hope in me, and then of an oath I had sworn to an old -mother in Plouherzel.</p> - -<p>And above all, I realized that I still loved my poor Yves as a brother. -. . . I went back to my room and began hurriedly to write to him; for -this must be the only means of communication between us; with our -characters, explanations would never be successful. I wrote quickly, in -large letters, so that he could still read them: darkness was coming on -quickly, and, in the dockyard, a light is a thing forbidden.</p> - -<p>Then I said to the sergeant-at-arms:</p> - -<p>"Bring Kermadec to speak to <i>the Officer of the Watch</i>, here in my -room."</p> - -<p>I had written:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"DEAR BROTHER,—I forgive you and I ask that you too will forgive me. -You know well that we are now brothers, and that, in spite of -everything, we must stick together through thick and thin. Are you -willing that all that we have done and said on the <i>Sèvre</i> should be -forgotten, and are you willing to make one more firm resolution to be -sober? I ask this of you in the name of your mother. If you will write -'Yes' at the bottom of this paper, all will be over and we will not -speak of it again.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">"PIERRE."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>When Yves came in, without looking at him, and without waiting for a -reply, I said to him simply:</p> - -<p>"Read this which I have just written for you." And I went out, leaving -him alone.</p> - -<p>He came out quickly, as if he had been afraid of my return, and, as soon -as I heard that he was some distance away, I re-entered my room to see -what he had answered.</p> - -<p>At the bottom of my letter—in letters still larger than mine, for it -was growing darker—he had written: "Yes, brother," and signed: "YVES."</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXVII">CHAPTER LXVII</a></h4> - - -<p>"Jean-Marie, go as quickly as you can and tell Yves that I am waiting -for him on shore, on the quay."</p> - -<p>This was ten minutes later. It was clearly necessary that we should -meet—after having written one another thus—in order to make the -reconciliation complete.</p> - -<p>When Yves arrived, his face had changed and he was smiling as I had not -seen him smile for many a long day. I took his hand, his poor topman's -hand, in mine; it was necessary to squeeze it very hard to make it feel -the pressure, for work had greatly hardened it.</p> - -<p>"But why did you do that? It wasn't kind, you know."</p> - -<p>And this was all he found to say to me by way of reproach.</p> - -<p>The guard at night on the <i>Sèvre</i> was not very strict.</p> - -<p>"Look here, Yves, we are going to spend this first night of the New Year -on shore, in Brest, and you are going to have dinner with me, as my -guest. That is a thing we have never done and it will be fun. Quickly, -go and brush your clothes (for he had got very dirty in irons in the -hold), and let us go."</p> - -<p>"Oh! but we must be quick, though. Let me rather brush myself when we -get on shore. The gun will sound directly, and we shall not have time to -get out."</p> - -<p>We were in a remote part of the docks, very far from the gates, and we -started off at once almost running.</p> - -<p>But, as luck would have it, when we were but half-way, the gun sounded -and we were too late.</p> - -<p>There was nothing for it but to return to the <i>Sèvre</i>, where it was -cold and dark.</p> - -<p>In the wardroom there was a pitiful lantern in a wire cage, which had -been lit by the fireman patrol, but no fire. And it was there we passed -the first night of the new year, dinnerless through our own fault, but -content nevertheless that we had found each other again and had made -friends.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless something still worried Yves.</p> - -<p>"I did not think of it before: but perhaps it would have been better if -you had left me in irons until the morning, on account of the others, -you know, who won't be able to make out what has happened. . . ."</p> - -<p>But about his future conduct, he had no misgiving at all; to-night he -felt very sure of himself.</p> - -<p>"In the first place," he said, "I have found a sure method; I will never -go ashore again except with you, and you will take me where you will. In -that way, you see. . . ."</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXVIII">CHAPTER LXVIII</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;"><i>Sunday</i>, 31<i>st March</i>, 1881.</p> - - -<p>Toulven, in spring; the lanes full of primroses. A first warm breeze -stirs the air, a surprise and a delight; it stirs the branches of the -oaks and beeches, and the great leafless woods; it brings us, in this -grey Brittany, the scent of distant places, memories of sunlit lands. A -pale summer is at hand, with long, mild evenings.</p> - -<p>We are all outside at the cottage door, the two old Keremenens, Yves, -his wife, and Anne, little Corentine, and little Pierre. Religious -chants, which we had first heard in the distance, are slowly drawing -near. It is the procession coming with rhythmic step, the first -procession of spring. It is now in the green lane. It is going to pass -in front of us.</p> - -<p>"Lift me, godfather, lift me!" says little Pierre, holding out his hands -for me to take him in my arms, so that he may see better.</p> - -<p>But Yves forestalls me and raising him very high, places him standing on -his shoulders; and little Pierre smiles to find himself so tall and -thrusts his hands into the mossy branches of the old trees.</p> - -<p>The banner of the Virgin passes, borne by two young men, thoughtful and -grave of mien. All the men of Trémeulé and of Toulven follow it, -bareheaded, young and old, hat in hand, with long hair, brown or -whitened by age, which falls on Breton jackets ornamented with old -embroideries.</p> - -<p>And the women come after: black corselets embroidered with eyes, a -little restrained hubbub of voices pronouncing Celtic words, a movement -of large white things of muslin on the heads. The old nurse follows -last, bent and hobbling, always with her witch-like movements; she gives -us a sign of recognition and threatens little Pierre, in fun, with the -end of her stick.</p> - -<p>It passes on and the noise with it.</p> - -<p>Now, from behind and from a distance, we see the long procession as it -ascends between the narrow walls of moss, a long lane of white -wide-winged head-dresses and white collarettes.</p> - -<p>It moves on, in zigzags, ascending always towards Saint Eloi of Toulven. -It is a strange sight, this long procession.</p> - -<p>"Oh! what a lot of coifs!" says Anne, who is the first to finish her -rosary, and who begins to laugh, struck with the effect of all these -white heads enlarged by the muslin wings.</p> - -<p>And now it has disappeared—lost in the distances of the vault of beech -trees—and one sees only the tender green of the lane and the tufts of -primroses scattered everywhere: eager growths which have not waited for -the sun, and which cluster on the moss in large compact masses, of a -pale sulphur yellow, a milky amber colour. The Bretons called them "milk -flowers."</p> - -<p>I take little Pierre's hand and lead him with me into the woods, in -order to leave Yves alone with his relations. They have very serious -matters, it seems, to discuss together: those interminable questions of -profits and distribution which, in the country, take so large a place in -life.</p> - -<p>This time it has to do with a dream Yves and his wife have dreamt -together: to realize all their possessions and build a little house, -covered with slate, in Toulven. I am to have my room there in this -little house, and in it are to be put the old-fashioned Breton things I -love, and flowers and ferns. They do not want to live any more in the -large towns, not in Brest particularly—<i>it is not good for -Yves.</i></p> - -<p>"It is true," he says, "that I shall not often be at home; but when I -am, we shall all be very happy there. And then, you know, later on when -I take my pension . . . it is for then really; I shall settle down very -nicely in my house and my little garden."</p> - -<p>His pension! That is ever the sailor's dream. It begins in early youth, -as if the present life were only a time of trial. To take his pension, -at about forty; after having traversed the world from pole to pole, to -possess a little plot of earth of his own, to live there very soberly -and to leave it no more; to become someone of standing in his village, -in his parish church—a churchwarden after having been a sea-rover; the -devil turned monk and a very peaceful one. . . . How many of them are -mown down before they reach it, this more peaceful hour of ripe age? And -yet, if you ask them, they are all thinking of it.</p> - -<p>This <i>sure method</i> which Yves had discovered for keeping sober had -succeeded very well; on board he was the exemplary sailor he had always -been, and, on shore, we were never apart.</p> - -<p>Since that miserable day which began the year 1881, the relations -between us had completely changed, and I treated him now in every -respect as a brother.</p> - -<p>On board this <i>Sèvre</i>, a very small boat, we officers lived in a very -cordial intimacy. Yves was now of our band. At the theatre, in our box; -sharing our enterprises which for the most part were insignificant -enough. Rather shy at first, refusing, slipping away, he had ended by -accepting the position, because he felt that he was loved by us all. And -I hoped by this new and perhaps unusual means to attach him to me as -much as possible, and to raise him out of his past life and win him from -his former friends.</p> - -<p>That thing which it is usual to call education, that kind of polish -which is applied thickly enough, it is true, on so many others, was -entirely wanting in my brother Yves; but he had naturally a kind of -tact, a delicacy much rarer, which cannot be assumed. When he was in our -company, he kept himself always so well in his place, that in the end he -himself began to feel at ease. He spoke very little, and never to say -those banal things which everybody says. And when he put off his -sailor's clothes and dressed himself in a well-fitting grey suit with -grey suede gloves to match, then, though preserving still his careless -sea-rover's carriage, his high-held head and his bronzed skin, he had -all at once quite a distinguished air.</p> - -<p>It used to amuse us to take him with us and present him to smart people -upon whom his silence and bearing imposed and who found him rather -haughty. And it was comical, next day, to see him once more a sailor, as -good a topman as before.</p> - -<p>Little Pierre and I, then, were in the woods of Toulven, looking for -flowers during the family council.</p> - -<p>We found a great many, pale yellow primroses, violet periwinkles, blue -borage, and even red silenes, the first of the spring.</p> - -<p>Little Pierre gathered as many as he could, in a state of great -excitement, not knowing which way to run, panting hard, as if in the -throes of a very important work; he brought them to me very eagerly in -little handfuls, very badly picked, half-crushed in his little fingers, -and too short in the stalk.</p> - -<p>From the height we had reached we could see woods as far as eye could -command; the blackthorns were already in flower; all the branches, all -the reddish sprigs, full of buds, were waiting for the spring. And, in -the distance, in the midst of this country of trees, Toulven church -raised its grey spire.</p> - -<p>We had been out so long that Corentine had been placed on the look out -in the green lane to announce our return. We saw her from a distance, -jumping, dancing, playing all sorts of tricks alone, her big head-dress -and her collarette fluttering in the wind. And she shouted loud:</p> - -<p>"They are coming, big Peter and little Peter, hand in hand."</p> - -<p>And she turned it into a rhyme and sang it to a lively Breton air as she -danced in time:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"See here they come together</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And they hold each other's hand,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Peter big and Peter little</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Are coming hand in hand."</span></p> - - -<p>Her big head-dress and her collarette aflutter in the breeze, she danced -like some little doll which had become possessed. And night was falling, -a night of March, always mournful, under the leafless roof of the old -trees. A sudden chill passed like a shudder of death over the woods, -after the sunny warmth of the day:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"And they hold each other's hand,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Peter big and Peter little!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And little black man Peter!"</span></p> - - -<p>"Little black man" was the nickname Yves had borne, and she gave it now -to her little cousin Pierre, on account of the bronzed colouring of the -Kermadecs. Thereupon I called her "Little Miss Golden Locks," and the -name stuck to her; it suited her well, on account of the curls which -were for ever escaping from her head-dress, curls like skeins of golden -silk.</p> - -<p>Everybody in the cottage seemed very pleased, and Yves took me aside and -told me that matters had been arranged very satisfactorily. Old Corentin -was giving them two thousand francs and an aunt was lending them another -thousand. With that they would be able to buy a piece of land for a term -of years and begin to build immediately.</p> - -<p>We had to leave immediately after dinner in order to catch the diligence -at Toulven and the train at Bannalec. For Yves and I were returning to -Lorient, where our ship was waiting for us in the harbour.</p> - -<p>At about eleven o'clock, when we had got back to the chance lodging we -had booked in the town, Yves, before going to bed, began to arrange in -vases the flowers we had gathered in the woods of Toulven.</p> - -<p>It was the first time in his life that he had ever done anything of the -kind; he was surprised at himself that he should find pleasure in these -poor little flowers to which he had never before given a thought.</p> - -<p>"Well, well!" he said. "When I have my own little house at Toulven, I -shall have flowers in it, for it seems to me that they look very well. -But it is you, you know, who have given me the idea of these -things. . . ."</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXIX">CHAPTER LXIX</a></h4> - - -<p>At sea, on the following day, the first of April. Bound for Saint -Nazaire. A full spread of canvas; a strong breeze from the north-west: -the weather bad; the lighthouses no longer visible. We came into dock in -the small hours, with a damaged bow and a broken foretopmast.</p> - -<p>The 2nd is pay day. Drunken men stumble in the hold in the dark and -there are broken heads.</p> - -<p>A little liberty of two days, quite unexpected. On the road with Yves -for Trémeulé in Toulven. This <i>Sèvre</i> is a good boat which never -takes us away for long.</p> - -<p>At ten o'clock at night, in the moonlight, we knock at the door of the -old Keremenens and of Marie, who were not expecting us.</p> - -<p>They wake up little Pierre in our honour, and sit him on our knees. -Surprised in his first sleep he smiles and says how do you do to us very -low, but afterwards does not make much ado about our visit. His eyes -close in spite of himself and he cannot hold up his head. And Yves, -disturbed at this, seeing him hanging his head, and looking at us in -sidelong fashion, his hair in his eyes:</p> - -<p>"You know, it seems to me that he has . . . that he has . . . a sly -look."</p> - -<p>And he looks at me anxious to know what I think of it, conceiving -already a grave misgiving about the future.</p> - -<p>Nobody in the world but my dear old Yves would have felt concern on such -ludicrous grounds. I shake little Pierre, who thereupon becomes wide -awake and bursts out laughing, his fine big eyes well opened between -their long lashes. Yves is reassured and finds that in fact he does not -look at all sly.</p> - -<p>When his mother strips him, he looks like a classic baby, like the Greek -statues of Cupid.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXX">CHAPTER LXX</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">Toulven, 30<i>th April.</i></p> - - -<p>The cottage of the old Keremenens, as darkness is falling on an evening -of April. Our little party has just returned from a walk: Yves, Marie, -Anne, little Corentine "golden locks," and "little black man" Pierre.</p> - -<p><i>Four</i> candles are burning in the cottage (<i>three</i> would be -unlucky).</p> - -<p>On an old table of massive oak, polished by the years, there are paper, -pens and sand. Benches have been placed round. Very solemn things are -about to happen.</p> - -<p>We put down our harvest of herbs and flowers, which shed a perfume of -April in the old cottage, and take our places.</p> - -<p>Presently two dear old women enter with an important air: they say good -evening with a curtsey, which makes their large starched collarettes -stand upright, and sit down in a corner. Then Pierre Kerbras, who is -engaged to Anne. At last everybody is placed and we are all complete.</p> - -<p>It is the great evening for the settlement of the family arrangements, -when the old Keremenens are going to fulfil the promise they have made -to their children. The two of them rise and open an old chest on which -the carvings represent Sacred Hearts alternating with cocks; they remove -papers, clothing, and from the bottom, take a little sack which seems -heavy. Then they go to their bed, lift up the mattress and search -beneath: a second sack!</p> - -<p>They empty the sacks on the table, in front of their son Yves, and then -appear all those shining pieces of gold and silver, stamped with ancient -effigies, which, for the last half century, have been amassed one by one -and put in hiding. They are counted out in little piles; the two -thousand francs promised are there.</p> - -<p>Now comes the turn of the old aunt who rises and empties a third little -sack; another thousand francs in gold.</p> - -<p>The old neighbour comes last; she brings five hundred in a stocking -foot. And all this is lent to Yves, all this is heaped before him. He -signs two little receipts on white paper and hands them to the two old -lenders who make their curtsey preparatory to leaving, but who are -detained, as custom ordains, and made to drink a glass of cider with us.</p> - -<p>It is over. All this has been done without a notary, without a deed, -without discussion, with a confidence and a simple honesty that are -things of Toulven.</p> - -<p>"Rat-tat-tat!" at the door. It is the contractor for the building, and -he arrives in the nick of time.</p> - -<p>But with this gentleman it is desirable to use stamped paper. He is an -old rogue from Quimper, with only a smattering of French, but he seems -cunning enough for all that, with his town manners.</p> - -<p>It is given to me to explain to him a plan which we had thought out -during our evenings on board, and in which a room is provided for me. I -discuss the construction in the smallest details and the price of all -the materials, with an air of knowledge which imposes on the old man, -but which makes Yves and me laugh, when by ill-luck our eyes chance to -meet.</p> - -<p>On a sheet bearing a twelve sou stamp I write two pages of clauses and -details:</p> - -<p>"A house built of granite, cemented with sand from the seashore, -limewashed, joinered in chestnut wood, with skylit attic, shutters -painted green, etc., etc., the whole to be finished before the 1st May -of next year and at the price fixed in advance of two thousand nine -hundred and fifty francs."</p> - -<p>This work and this concentration of mind have made me quite tired; I am -surprised at myself, and I can see that they all are amazed at my -foresight and my economy. It is unbelievable what these good people have -made me do.</p> - -<p>At last it is signed and sealed. We drink cider and shake hands all -round. And Yves now is a landowner in Toulven. They look so happy, Yves -and his wife, that I regret no part of the trouble I have taken for -them.</p> - -<p>The two old ladies make their final curtsey, and all the others, even -little Pierre, who has been allowed to stay up, come with me, in the -fine moonlit night, as far as the inn.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">Toulven, 1<i>st May</i>, 1881.</p> - -<p>We are very busy, Yves and I, assisted by old Corentin Keremenen, -measuring with string the land to be acquired.</p> - -<p>First of all we had to select it, and that took us all yesterday -morning. For Yves it was a very serious matter this fixing of the site -of his little house, in which he pictured, in the background of a -melancholy and strange distance, his retirement, his old age and death.</p> - -<p>After many goings and comings we had decided on this spot. It is in the -outskirts of Toulven, on the road which leads to Rosporden, on high -ground, facing a little village square which is brightened this morning -by a population of noisy fowls and red-cheeked children. On one side is -Toulven and its church, on the other the great woods.</p> - -<p>At the moment it is just an oatfield very green. We have measured it -carefully in all directions; reckoned by the square yard it will cost -fourteen hundred and ninety francs, without counting the lawyer's fees.</p> - -<p>How steady Yves will have to be, and how he will have to save to pay all -that! He becomes very serious when he thinks of it.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXXI">CHAPTER LXXI</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">ON BOARD THE <i>Sèvre, May</i>, 1881.</p> - - -<p>Yves, who will soon be thirty years old, begs me to bring him from the -town a bound manuscript book in order that he may commence to record his -impressions, after my manner. He regrets even that he can no longer -recall very clearly dates and past events so that he might make his -record retrospective.</p> - -<p>His intelligence is opening to a crowd of new conceptions; he models -himself on me and perhaps makes himself more "complex" than he need. But -our intimacy brings in its train another and quite unexpected result, -namely that I am becoming much simpler in contact with him; I also am -changing, and almost as much as he.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">BREST, <i>June</i>, 1881.</p> - -<p>At six o'clock, on the evening of the feast of St. John, I was returning -with Yves from the "pardon" of Plougastel on the outside of a country -omnibus.</p> - -<p>In May the <i>Sèvre</i> had been as far as Algiers, and we appreciated, by -contrast, the special charm of the Breton country.</p> - -<p>The horses were going at full gallop, beribboned, with streamers and -green branches on their heads.</p> - -<p>The folk inside were singing, and, on top, next to us, three drunken -sailors were dancing, their bonnets on one side, flowers in their -button-holes, with streamers and trumpets, and, in mockery of those -unfortunate enough to be short-sighted, blue spectacles—three young -men, smart of bearing and intelligent in face, who were taking a last -French leave before their departure for China.</p> - -<p>Any ordinary man would have broken his neck. But they, drunk as they -were, kept their feet, nimble as goats, while the omnibus careered at -full speed, swinging from right to left in the ruts, driven by a driver -who was as drunk as they.</p> - -<p>At Plougastel we had found the uproar of a village fête, wooden horses, -a female dwarf, a female giant, a fat lady, and a boneless man, and -games and drinking stalls. And, in an isolated square, the Breton -bagpipes played a rapid and monotonous air of olden times, and people in -old-fashioned costume danced to this age-old music; men and women, -holding hands, ran, ran like the wind, like a lot of mad folk, in a long -frenzied file. It was a relic of old Brittany, retaining still its note -of primitiveness, even at the gates of Brest, amid the uproar of a fair.</p> - -<p>At first we tried, Yves and I, to calm the three sailors and make them -sit down.</p> - -<p>And then it struck us as rather comical that we, of all people, should -assume the rôle of preacher.</p> - -<p>"After all," I said to Yves, "it's not the first sermon of the kind -we've preached."</p> - -<p>"To be sure, no," he replied with conviction.</p> - -<p>And we contented ourselves with holding on to the iron rails to prevent -ourselves from falling.</p> - -<p>The roads and the villages are full of people returning from the -"pardon," and all these people are amazed at seeing pass this -carriage-load of madmen with the three sailors dancing on the top.</p> - -<p>The splendour of June throws over this Brittany its charm and its life; -the breeze is mild and warm beneath the grey sky; the tall grass, full -of red flowers; the trees, of an emerald green, filled with cockchafers.</p> - -<p>And the three sailors continue to dance and sing, and at each couplet, -the others, inside, take up the refrain:</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Oh! He set out with the wind behind him,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He'll find it harder coming back."</span></p> - - -<p>The windows of our carriage rattle with it. This air, which never -changes and is repeated over and over again for some six miles of our -journey, is a very ancient air of France, so old and so young, of so -frank a gaiety and so good a quality, that in a very few minutes we too -are singing it with the rest.</p> - -<p>How beautiful Brittany looks, beautiful and rejuvenated and green, in -the June sunshine!</p> - -<p>We poor followers of the sea, when we find spring in our path, rejoice -in it more than other people, on account of the sequestered life we lead -in the wooden monasteries. It was eight years since Yves had seen a -Breton spring, and we both had long grown weary of the winter, and of -that eternal summer which in other parts reigns resplendent over the -great blue sea; and these green fields, these soft perfumes, all this -charm of June which words cannot describe held us entranced.</p> - -<p>Life still holds hours that are worth the living, hours of youth and -forgetfulness. Away with all melancholy dreams, all the morbid fancies -of long-faced poets! It is good to sail, in the face of the wind, in the -company of the most lighthearted among the children of the earth. Health -and youth comprise all there is of truth in the world, with simple and -boisterous merriment and the songs of sailors!</p> - -<p>And we continued to travel very quickly and very erratically, zigzagging -over the road among these crowds of people, between very tall hawthorns -forming green hedges, and under the tufted vault of the trees.</p> - -<p>And presently Brest appeared, with its great solemn air, its great -granite ramparts, its great grey walls, on which also grass and pink -foxgloves were growing. It was as it were intoxicated, this mournful -town, at having by chance a real summer's day, an evening clear and -warm; it was full of noise and movement and people, of white -head-dresses and sailors singing.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXXII">CHAPTER LXXII</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">5<i>th July</i>, 1881.</p> - - -<p><i>At Sea.</i>—We are returning from the Channel. The <i>Sèvre</i> -is proceeding very slowly in a thick fog, blowing every now and then its -whistle which sounds like a cry of distress in this damp shroud which -envelops us. The grey solitudes of the sea are all about us and we feel -them without seeing them. It seems as if we were dragging with us long -veils of darkness; we long to break through them; we are oppressed as it -were to feel that we have been so long enclosed within them, and the -impression grows that this curtain is immense, infinite, that it stretches for -league on league without end, in the same dull greyness, in the same -watery atmosphere. And then there is the endless roll of the waters, -slow, smooth, regular, patient, exasperating. It is as if great polished -and shining backs heaved and pushed us with their shoulders, raising us -up and letting us fall.</p> - -<p>Suddenly in the evening the fog lifts and there appears before us a dark -thing, surprising, unexpected, like a tall phantom emerging from the -sea:</p> - -<p>"Ar Men Du (the Black Rocks)!" says our old Breton pilot.</p> - -<p>And, at the same time, the veil is rent all round us. Ushant appears: -all its dark rocks, all its reefs are outlined in dark grey, beaten by -high-flung showers of white foam, under a sky which seems as heavy as a -globe of lead.</p> - -<p>Immediately we straighten our course, and taking advantage of the -clearing, the <i>Sèvre</i> stands in for Brest, whistling no longer, but -hastening and with every hope of reaching port. But the curtain slowly -closes again and falls. We can see no longer, darkness comes, and we -have to stand out for the open sea.</p> - -<p>And for three long days we continue thus, unable to see anything. Our -eyes are weary with watching.</p> - -<p>This is my last voyage on the <i>Sèvre</i>, which I am due to leave as soon -as we reach Brest. Yves, with his Breton superstition, sees something -unnatural in this fog, which persists in midsummer as if to delay my -departure.</p> - -<p>It seems to him a warning and a bad omen.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXXIII">CHAPTER LXXIII</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">BREST, 9<i>th July</i>, 1881.</p> - - -<p>We reach port at last, however, and this is my last day of duty on -board. I disembark to-morrow.</p> - -<p>We are in the heart of the Brest docks, where the <i>Sèvre</i> comes from -time to time to rest between two high walls. High gloomy-looking -buildings overlook us; around us courses of native rock support the -ramparts, a roundway, a whole heavy pile of granite, oozing sadness and -humidity. I know all these things by heart.</p> - -<p>And as we are now in July there are foxgloves, and tufts of silenes -clinging here and there to the grey stones. These red plants growing on -the walls strike a note of summer in this sunless Brest.</p> - -<p>I have a kind of pleasure, nevertheless, in going away. This Brittany -always causes me, in spite of everything, a melancholy sense of -oppression; I feel it now, and when I think of the novelty and the -unknown which await me, it seems to me that I am about to awaken with -the passing of a kind of night. . . . Whither shall I be sent? Who -knows? In what particular corner of the earth shall I have to -acclimatize myself to-morrow? No doubt in some country of the sun where -I shall become another person altogether, with different senses, and -where I shall forget, alas! the beloved things I am now about to leave -behind me.</p> - -<p>But my poor Yves and my little Pierre, I shall not part from either of -them without a pang.</p> - -<p>Poor Yves, who has so often himself had to be treated like a spoilt and -capricious child, it is he now, at the hour of my departure, who -surrounds me with a thousand kind attentions, almost childlike, at a -loss to know what he can do to show sufficiently his affection. And this -attitude in him has the greater charm, because it is not in his ordinary -nature.</p> - -<p>The time we have just passed together, in a daily fraternal intimacy, -has not been without its storms. He still deserved in some degree, -unfortunately, the epithets "undisciplined, uncontrollable," inscribed -long ago in his sailor's pay-book; but he had improved very much, and, -if I had been able to keep him near me, I should have saved him.</p> - -<p>After dinner we came up on deck for our usual evening promenade.</p> - -<p>I say for a last time:</p> - -<p>"Yves, make me a cigarette."</p> - -<p>And we begin our regular little walk up and down the wooden deck of the -<i>Sèvre.</i> We know by heart all the little hollows where the water -collects, all the angle blocks in which one's feet may be caught, all -the rings over which one may stumble.</p> - -<p>The sky is overcast for our last walk together, the moon hidden, and the -air damp. In the distance, from the direction of Recouvrance, come as -usual the eternal songs of the sailors.</p> - -<p>We speak of many things. I give Yves much advice, and he, very -submissive, makes many promises; and it is very late when he leaves me -to seek his hammock.</p> - -<p>At noon on the following day, my trunks scarcely packed and many visits -unpaid, I am at the station with Yves and my friends of the wardroom who -have come to see me off. I shake hands with them all, I think even that -I embrace them, and then I depart.</p> - -<p>A little before dark I reach Toulven, where I propose to stop for a -couple of hours to make my adieux.</p> - -<p>How green it is and decked with flowers, this Toulven, this fresh and -shady region, the most delightful in Brittany!</p> - -<p>There I find them waiting for me to cut little Pierre's hair. The idea -that anyone would entrust me with such a task had never occurred to me. -They told me "that I was the only one who could keep him quiet." The -previous week, they had brought in the barber from Toulven, and little -Pierre had made such a fuss that the first thing the scissors did was to -cut his little ears; and it had been necessary to abandon the project. I -made the attempt, however, in order to please them, hard put to it not -to laugh.</p> - -<p>Then when I had done, the notion came to me to keep one of the little -brown curls which I had cut off, and I took it away with me, surprised -that I should set so much store by it.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXXIV">CHAPTER LXXIV</a></h4> - - -<p class="center"><i>A Letter from Yves</i></p> - - -<blockquote> -<p style="margin-left: 55%;">"On board the <i>Sèvre</i>, Lisbon,</p> -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">"1<i>st August</i>, 1881.</p> - -<p>"DEAR BROTHER,—I am sending you this short letter in reply on the same -day that I have received yours. I write in haste and am taking advantage -of the luncheon hour. I am on the stand of the main mast.</p> - -<p>"We put into Lisbon yesterday evening. Dear brother, we have had very -bad weather this time; we have lost our head sails, the mizzen and the -whaler. I may tell you also, that, in the heavy rolling of the ship, my -kit-bag and my locker have disappeared, and all my possessions with -them; I have suffered a loss of nearly a hundred francs in this way.</p> - -<p>"You asked me what I did on the Sunday, a fortnight ago. My good -brother, I remained quietly on board and finished reading 'Capitaine -Fracasse.' And, since your departure, I have only been ashore once, on -Sunday last; and I was very sober, for in the first place, I had sent -home the whole of my month's money; I had drawn sixty-nine francs and -sent sixty-five of them to my wife.</p> - -<p>"I have had news from Toulven and it is all good. Little Pierre is very -sharp and he can now run about very well. Only he is very naughty when -he gets <i>his little sea-gull mood on him</i>, like me, you know; from what -his mother says, he upsets everything he can get hold of. The walls of -our house are already more than six feet above ground; I shall be very -happy when it is quite finished, and especially when I see you installed -in your little room.</p> - -<p>"Dear brother, you bid me think of you often; I assure you that never an -hour passes in which I do not think of you, and often many times in the -hour. Besides, now, you understand, I have no longer anyone to talk to -in the evening—and sometimes I have no cigarettes.</p> - -<p>"I cannot tell you when we are leaving here, but please write to me at -Oran. I hear we shall be paid at Oran, so that we may be able to go -ashore and buy tobacco.</p> - -<p>"I end, my dear brother, in embracing you with all my heart.</p> - -<p>"Your affectionate brother who loves you. Ever yours,</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">"YVES KERMADEC.</p> - - -<p>"P.S.—If I have enough money at Oran, I will lay in a large supply of -tobacco, and, especially for you, of that sort which is like the Turkish -tobacco, which you are fond of smoking.</p> - -<p>"The Captain has given me for you a table-napkin, the last you used on -board. I have washed it, and, in doing so, I have torn it a little.</p> - -<p>"As regards the manuscript book you gave me for writing my notes, that -too was spoilt by the storm and I have laid it aside.</p> - -<p>"Dear brother, I embrace you again with all my heart,</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">"YVES KERMADEC.</p> - - -<p>"P.S.—On board, things are just the same and the Captain has not -changed his habit of insisting on the tidiness of the deck. There was a -great dispute between him and the lieutenant, once more about the -<i>cacatois</i>, you know. But they were good friends again, afterwards.</p> - -<p>"I have also to tell you that in seven or eight months, I think we shall -have another little child. A thing, however, which does not altogether -please me, for I think it is a little too soon.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 55%;">"Your brother,</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">"YVES."</p></blockquote> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXXV">CHAPTER LXXV</a></h4> - - -<p>I was in the Near East when these little letters of Yves reached me; -they brought me, in their simplicity, the already far-off perfume of the -Breton country.</p> - -<p>My memories of Brittany were fading fast. Even now I seemed to see them -as through a mist of dreamland; the reefs I had known so well, the -lights on the coast, Cape Finistère with its great dark rocks; and the -dangerous approaches to Ushant on winter evenings, and the west wind -blowing under a mournful sky, in the fall of December nights. From where -I was now, it all seemed a vision of a sunless country.</p> - -<p>And the poor little cottage at Toulven! How small it seemed, lost at the -side of a Breton lane! But it was the region of deep beech woods, of -grey rocks, of lichens and mosses; of old granite chapels and -high-growing grass speckled with red flowers. Here, sand and white -minarets under a vault surpassingly blue, and sunshine, eternal, -enchanting sunshine!</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXXVI">CHAPTER LXXVI</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 50%;"><i>Another Letter from Yves</i></p> - - -<blockquote> -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">"BREST, 10<i>th September</i>, 1881.</p> - -<p>"MY DEAR BROTHER,—I have to tell you that our <i>Sèvre</i> is being -disarmed; we handed her over yesterday to the authorities at the docks; -and, I can assure you, I am not very grieved about it.</p> - -<p>"I reckon on remaining for some time on shore, in the neighbourhood; -also (since our little house is not very far advanced, as you will -understand) my wife has come to live with me in Brest until it is -finished. I think you will agree, dear brother, that we have done the -right thing. This time we have taken rooms almost in the country, at -Recouvrance, on the way to Pontaniou.</p> - -<p>"Dear brother, I have to tell you that little Pierre was taken ill with -colic as a result of eating too many berries in the woods, on that last -Sunday when we were at Toulven; but he got over it. He is becoming a -dear little chap, and I spend hours playing with him. In the evening all -three of us go for a walk together; we never go out now unless we go -together, and when one returns the other two return also!</p> - -<p>"Dear brother, if only you were back in Brest, I should have everything -I want; and you would see me now as I am, and you would be very pleased -with me; for never have I been so peaceful.</p> - -<p>"I should like to go away with you again, my dear brother, and to find -myself on a ship bound for the Levant where I might find you. This is -not to say that I do not want to continue the life I am now living, for -I assure you I do. But that is not possible, because I am too happy.</p> - -<p>"I end in embracing you with all my heart. Little Pierre sends his love; -my wife and all my relations at Toulven ask to be remembered to you. -They look forward to seeing you and I can promise you so do I.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 55%;">"Your brother,</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">"YVES KERMADEC."</p></blockquote> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXXVII">CHAPTER LXXVII</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">TOULVEN, <i>October</i>, 1881.</p> - - -<p>Pale Brittany once more in autumn sunshine! Once more the old Breton -lanes, the beech trees and the heather! I thought I had said good-bye to -this country for many a long day, and coming back to it I am filled with -a strange melancholy. My return has been sudden, unexpected, as the -returns and the departures of sailors so often are.</p> - -<p>A fine October day, a warm sun, a thin white mist spread like a veil -over the countryside. All about is that immense peace which is peculiar -to the fine days of autumn; in the air a savour of dampness and of -fallen leaves, a pervading sense of the dying year. I am in the -well-known woods of Trémeulé, on the height overlooking all the region -of Toulven. Below me, the lake, motionless under this floating mist, -and, in the distance, wooded horizons, as they must have been in the -ancient days of Gaul.</p> - -<p>And those who are with me, sitting among the thousand little flowerets -of the heather, are my Breton friends, my brother Yves and little -Pierre, his son.</p> - -<p>It has become in some sort my own country, this Toulven. A few short -years ago it was unknown to me, and Yves, for all that even then I -called him brother, scarcely counted for me. The aspects of life change, -things happen, are transformed, and pass.</p> - -<p>The heather is so thick that, in the distance, it looks as if the ground -were covered with a reddish carpet. The tardy scabious are still in -flower, on the top of their long stalks; and the first of the heavy -rains have already littered the earth with dead leaves.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>It was true, what Yves had written to me; he had become very steady. He -had just been taken on board one of the ships in the Brest roadstead, -which seemed to assure for him a stay of two years in his native -country. Marie, his wife, was installed near him in the suburb of -Recouvrance, waiting for the little house at Toulven, which was growing -slowly, with very thick and solid walls, in the manner of olden times. -She had welcomed my unexpected return as a blessing from heaven; for my -presence in Brest, near them, reassured her greatly.</p> - -<p>That Yves should have become so steady, and so suddenly, when so far as -one could see there was no decisive circumstance to account for the -change in him, was a thing scarcely to be believed! And Marie, in -confirming her happiness to me, did so very timidly; she spoke of it as -one speaks of unstable, fugitive things, with a fear lest their mere -expression in words should break the spell and frighten them away.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXXVIII">CHAPTER LXXVIII</a></h4> - - -<p>And then one day the demon of alcohol crossed their path again. Yves -came in with the sullen troubled look Marie had such cause to dread.</p> - -<p>It was a Sunday in October. He arrived from his ship, where he had been -ordered to irons, so he said; and he had escaped because it was unjust. -He seemed very exasperated; his blue jersey was torn and his shirt open.</p> - -<p>She spoke soothingly to him, trying to calm him. It so happened that the -day was beautifully fine; it was one of those rare days of late autumn -which have an exquisite and peaceful melancholy, which are as it were a -last resting place of summer before the winter comes. She had on her -best dress and her embroidered collarette, and had dressed little Pierre -in all his finery, thinking they would all three go for a walk together -in the soft sunshine. In the street, couples passed, in their Sunday -clothes, making their way along the roads or into the woods as in the -spring-time.</p> - -<p>But no, it was not to be; Yves had pronounced the terrifying phrase she -knew so well: "I am going to find my friends!" It was all over!</p> - -<p>Then, almost distracted with grief, she had ventured on an extreme -measure: while he was looking out of the window, she had shut and locked -the door and hidden the key in her bodice. And he, who knew very well -what she had done, turned round and said, hanging his head, his eyes -glowering:</p> - -<p>"Open the door! Open it! Do you hear me? I tell you to open the -door."</p> - -<p>He went and shook the door on its hinges; something restrained him yet -from breaking it—which he could have done without any trouble. And -then, no; he would make his wife, who had locked it, come and open it -herself.</p> - -<p>And he walked up and down the room, with the air of a wild beast, -repeating:</p> - -<p>"Open the door! Do you hear me? I tell you to open it."</p> - -<p>The joyous sounds of the Sunday came up from the street. Women in wide -head-dresses passed on the arm of their husbands or their lovers. The -autumn sun illumined them with its tranquil light.</p> - -<p>He stamped his foot and repeated again in a low voice:</p> - -<p>"Open! I tell you to open!"</p> - -<p>It was the first time she had attempted to retain him by force, and she -saw that she was succeeding badly and she was strangely afraid. Without -looking at him, she flung herself on her knees in a corner, and began to -pray, out loud and very quickly, like one possessed. It seemed to her -that she was approaching a terrible moment, that what was going to -happen was more dreadful than anything that had happened before. And -little Pierre, standing up, opened very wide his serious eyes, afraid -also, but not understanding.</p> - -<p>"You won't? You won't open it for me? . . . I will break it, then! You -will see!"</p> - -<p>There was a thud on the floor, then a heavy, horrible sound. Yves had -fallen from his full height. The handle by which he had seized the door -remained in his hand, broken, and he had been thrown backwards on his -son, whose little head had struck against the corner of an iron fire-dog -in the fireplace.</p> - -<p>And then there was a sudden change. Marie ceased her praying. She got -up, her eyes dilated and wild, and snatched her little Pierre from the -hands of Yves, who was attempting to raise him. He had fallen without a -cry, overcome at being hurt by his father. Blood trickled from his -forehead and he uttered no word. Marie pressed him close to her breast, -took the key from her bodice, unlocked the door with one hand and threw -it wide open. . . . Yves watched her, frightened in his turn; she shrank -away from him, crying:</p> - -<p>"Go! Go! Go!"</p> - -<p>Poor Yves! He hesitated now to pass out! He was trying to understand -what had happened. This door which had now been opened for him, he had -no longer use for it; he had a vague notion that this threshold was -going, in some way, to be a fatal one to cross. And then, this blood he -saw on the face of his little son and on his little collar. . . . Yes he -wanted to know what had happened, to come near to them. He passed his -hand over his forehead, feeling that he was drunk, making a great effort -to understand what the matter was . . . God! No, he could not; he -understood nothing. Drink, the friends who were waiting for him below, -that was all.</p> - -<p>She repeated once more, her son clasped close to her heart:</p> - -<p>"Go! Go, I tell you!"</p> - -<p>Then turning about he went downstairs and out.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXXIX">CHAPTER LXXIX</a></h4> - - -<p>"Hello! Is that you, Kermadec."</p> - -<p>"Yes, Monsieur Kerjean."</p> - -<p>"And on French leave, I bet?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Monsieur Kerjean."</p> - -<p>So much indeed might have been guessed from his appearance.</p> - -<p>"And so, I understand you are married, Yves? Someone from Paimpol, that -big fellow Lisbatz, I think, told me you were a family man."</p> - -<p>Yves shrugged his shoulders with a movement of bad-tempered -carelessness, and said:</p> - -<p>"If you are looking for men. Monsieur Kerjean . . . it will suit me very -well to join your ship."</p> - -<p>It was not the first time that this Captain Kerjean had enrolled a -deserter. He understood. He knew how to take them and afterwards how to -manage them. His ship, <i>la Belle-Rose</i>, which sailed under the American -flag, was leaving on the following day for California. Yves was -acceptable to him; he was indeed an excellent acquisition to a crew such -as his.</p> - -<p>The two moved aside and discussed, in a low voice, their treaty of -alliance.</p> - -<p>This took place in the Mercantile docks, on the morning of the second -day after he had left his home.</p> - -<p>The day before he had been to Recouvrance, skirting the walls, in an -attempt to get news of his little Pierre. From a distance, he had seen -him looking out of the window at the people passing below, with a little -bandage round his head. And then he had returned on his tracks, -sufficiently reassured, in the half-muddled condition of drunkenness in -which he still was; he had returned on his tracks to "go and find his -friends."</p> - -<p>On this morning he had awakened at daybreak, in a hangar on the quay -where his <i>friends</i> had left him. His drunkenness had now passed, -completely passed. The fine October weather continued, fresh and pure; -things wore their customary aspects, as if nothing had happened, and his -first thoughts were thoughts of tenderness for his son and for Marie; -and he was on the point of rising and going back to them and asking them -to forgive him. Some minutes passed before he realized the extent of his -misfortune, realized that all was over, that he was lost. . . .</p> - -<p>For how could he go back to them now? It was impossible! For very shame -he could not.</p> - -<p>Besides, he had escaped from the ship after being ordered to irons and, -since, had absented himself for three whole days. These were not matters -easily dismissed. And then to take once more those same resolutions, -taken twenty times before, to make once more those same promises, to say -once more those same words of repentance. . . . It did not bear thinking -on. He smiled bitterly in self-pity and disgust.</p> - -<p>And then again his wife had bidden him to "go!" He remembered that -vividly, and her look of hate, as she showed him the door. No matter -that he had deserved it a thousand times, he could never forgive her -that, he who was so used to being lord and master. She had driven him -away. So be it then, he had gone, he was following his destiny, she -would never see him again.</p> - -<p>This backsliding was all the more repugnant to him, in that it followed -upon this period of decent peace during which he had caught a glimpse of -and begun to realize a higher life; and this return to misery seemed to -him a thing decisive and fatal. He observed now that he was covered with -dust and mud and filth of other sort, and he began to dust himself, -raising his head, and gradually assuming an expression of grimness and -disdain.</p> - -<p>That he should have fallen like a senseless brute on his little son and -injured his poor little forehead! He became to himself a miserable, -repulsive thing at the thought of it.</p> - -<p>He began to break with his hands the sides of a wooden box which lay -near him, and under his breath, after an instinctive glance round to see -that he was alone, he called himself, with a bitter, mocking smile, vile -names such as sailors use.</p> - -<p>Now he was on his feet, looking determined and dangerous.</p> - -<p>To desert! If he could join some ship and get away at once! There should -be one in the docks; in fact that day there were many. Yes, he would -desert at any price and disappear for ever!</p> - -<p>His decision had been taken with an implacable resolve. He walked -towards where the ships lay, his shoulders well back, his head high, the -Breton self-will in his half-closed eyes, in his frowning brows.</p> - -<p>He said to himself: "I am worthless, I know it, I always knew it, and -they had far better let me go my ways. I have done my best, but I am -what I am and it is not my fault."</p> - -<p>And he was right perhaps: <i>it was not his fault.</i> As he was now he was -not responsible; he yielded to mysterious influences which had their -origin in the remote past and came to him with his blood; he was a -victim of the law of heredity working through a whole family, a whole -race.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXXX">CHAPTER LXXX</a></h4> - - -<p>At two o'clock on this same day on which he had concluded his bargain -with Captain Kerjean, Yves, having bought some ordinary seaman's -clothes, and changed clandestinely in a tavern on the quay, went on -board the <i>Belle-Rose.</i></p> - -<p>He went all over the ship, which was badly kept and had aspects of -primitive roughness, but which nevertheless seemed a stout and handy -vessel, built for speed and the hazards of the sea.</p> - -<p>Compared with the ships of the navy it looked small, short, and, above -all, empty; an air of abandonment with scarce a soul on board; even at -anchor this kind of solitude struck a chill to the heart. Three or four -rough-looking seamen lounged about the deck; they composed the whole -crew, and were about to become, for some years perhaps, Yves' only -companions.</p> - -<p>They began by staring at one another before speaking.</p> - -<p>Throughout the day the fine weather continued, warm and peaceful; a sort -of melancholy summer persisting into the autumn and bringing with it a -kind of tranquillity. And on Yves, too, his decision irrevocably taken, -a calm descended.</p> - -<p>They showed him his little locker, but he had scarcely anything to put -in it. He washed himself in cold water, adjusted his new clothes, with -an air of something like vanity; he wore no longer the livery of the -state which he had often found so irksome; he felt at ease, freed from -all the bonds of the past, almost as much as by death itself. He began -to rejoice in his independence.</p> - -<p>On the following morning, with the tide, the <i>Belle-Rose</i> was going to -put off. Yves scented the ocean, the life of the sea which was about to -commence in the new fashion so long desired. For years this idea of -deserting had obsessed him in a strange way, and now it was a thing -accomplished. The decision he had taken raised him in his own eyes; he -grew bigger as he felt himself outside the law; he was no longer -ashamed, now that he was a deserter, of presenting himself before his -wife; he even told himself that he would have the coinage to go to her -that very night, before he went away, if only to take her the money he -had received.</p> - -<p>At certain moments, when the face of little Pierre passed before his -eyes, his heart ached horribly; it seemed to him that this ship, silent -and empty, was as it were a bier on which he was about to be carried -living to his grave; he almost choked, tears welled into his eyes, but -he checked them in time, with his strong will, by thinking of something -else; and quickly he began to talk to his new-found friends. They -discussed the method of manœuvring the ship with so small a crew, and -the working of the large pulleys which had been multiplied everywhere to -replace the arms of men, and which, so Yves thought, made the gear of -the <i>Belle-Rose</i> unduly heavy.</p> - -<p>In the evening, when it was dark, he went to Recouvrance and climbed -noiselessly to his door.</p> - -<p>He listened first before opening it; there was no sound. He entered -softly.</p> - -<p>A lamp was burning on the table. His son was alone, asleep. He leaned -over his wicker cradle, which had the scent of a bird's nest, and placed -his lips very gently on those of his child in order to feel once more -his soft breathing. Then he sat down near him and remained still, so -that his face might be calm again when his wife should enter.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXXXI">CHAPTER LXXXI</a></h4> - - -<p>Marie had seen him coming, and climbed the stairs after him, -trembling.</p> - -<p>In the last two days she had had time to consider in all its aspects the -misfortune which had come upon them.</p> - -<p>She had shrunk from questioning the other sailors, as the poor wives of -absentees commonly do, to ascertain from them whether Yves had returned -to his ship. She knew nothing of him, and she was waiting, prepared for -the worst.</p> - -<p>Perhaps he would not come back; she was prepared for that as for -everything else, and was surprised that she could think of it with so -much calmness. In that case her plans were made; she would not return to -Toulven, for fear of seeing their partly built house, for fear also of -hearing the name of her husband execrated daily in the home of her -parents, to which she would have to go. Not to Toulven; but to the -country of Goëlo, where there was an old woman who resembled Yves, and -whose features suddenly assumed for her an infinite kindliness. It was -at her door she would knock. She would be indulgent to him, for she was -his mother. They would be able to speak without hatred of the absent -one; they would live there, the two deserted women, together, and watch -over little Pierre, uniting their efforts to keep him, their last hope, -with them, so that he at least should not be a sailor.</p> - -<p>And it seemed to her, too, that if one day, after many years perhaps, -Yves, the deserter, should return seeking those who belonged to him it -was to that little corner of the world, to Plouherzel, that he would -come.</p> - -<p>The night before, she had had a strange dream of Yves' return; it seemed -to her that many years had passed and that she was already old. Yves -arrived at the cottage in Plouherzel in the evening; he too was old, -altered, wretched. He came asking forgiveness. Behind him Goulven and -Gildas entered, and <i>another Yves</i>, taller than them all, with hair -quite white, trailing behind him long fringes of seaweed.</p> - -<p>The old mother received them with her stern face. In a voice infinitely -sad she asked:</p> - -<p>"How comes it that they are all here? My husband was lost at sea more -than sixty years ago. . . . Goulven is in America. . . . Gildas in his -grave in the cemetery. . . . How comes it that they are all here?"</p> - -<p>Then Marie awoke in fear, understanding that she had been surrounded by -the dead.</p> - -<p>But this evening Yves had returned alive and young; she had recognized -in the darkness of the street his tall figure and active step. At the -thought that she was going to see him again and to determine her lot, -all her courage and all her plans had deserted her. She trembled more -and more as she ascended the staircase. . . . Perhaps after all he had -simply passed the last two days on board and was now returning in the -ordinary way. Perhaps they would settle down once more. . . . She paused -on the stairs and prayed God that this might be true, a quick, heartfelt -prayer.</p> - -<p>When she opened the door, he was indeed there, sitting by the cradle and -looking at his sleeping son.</p> - -<p>Poor little Pierre was sleeping peacefully, the bandage still on his -forehead where the fire-iron had cut it.</p> - -<p>As soon as she entered, pale, her heart beating so violently as almost -to hurt her, she saw at once that Yves had not been drinking: he raised -his eyes to her and his gaze was clear; but he lowered them quickly -again and remained bent over his son.</p> - -<p>"Is he much hurt?" he asked in an undertone, slowly, with a calmness -that surprised and frightened her.</p> - -<p>"No, I have been to the doctor for the dressing. He says that it will -not leave a mark. He did not cry at all."</p> - -<p>They remained there, silent, one before the other, he still sitting near -the little cradle, she standing, white-faced and trembling. There was no -ill-will between them now; perhaps they loved each other still; but now -the irreparable was accomplished and it was too late. She looked at the -clothes he wore, which she had never seen him in before: a black woollen -jersey and a cloth cap. Why these clothes? And this little parcel near -him on the floor, out of which the end of a blue collar peeped? It -seemed to contain his sailor's effects, put aside for ever, as if the -real Yves was dead.</p> - -<p>She found courage to ask:</p> - -<p>"The other day, did you return to the ship?"</p> - -<p>There was silence again. She was conscious of a growing anxiety.</p> - -<p>"During the last three days, you have not returned?"</p> - -<p>"No!"</p> - -<p>Then she did not dare to speak again, fearing to hear the dreadful -truth; trying to prolong the minutes, even these minutes compact of -uncertainty and anguish, because he was still there, before her, perhaps -for the last time.</p> - -<p>At last the poignant question fell from her lips:</p> - -<p>"What are you going to do then?"</p> - -<p>And he, in a low voice, simply, with the calmness of an unalterable -resolve, let fall the fatal word:</p> - -<p>"Desert!"</p> - -<p>Desert! . . . Yes, she had divined it only too well in the last few -moments, when she saw his altered clothing, and this little parcel of -sailor's kit carefully folded in a handkerchief.</p> - -<p>She recoiled under the weight of the word, supporting herself with her -hands against the wall behind her, almost choking. Deserter! Yves! lost! -The thought of Goulven, his brother, passed through her mind, and of -distant seas from which sailors never return. And, feeling her -helplessness against this fate which crushed her, she remained silent, -utterly overwhelmed.</p> - -<p>Yves began to speak to her very kindly, pointing with sorrowful calm to -the little parcel which he had brought.</p> - -<p>"I want you, my poor Marie, to-morrow, when my ship has left, to send -that on board, you understand. You never can tell! . . . If I am caught -. . . It is always more serious to take away the property of the State! -And this is the advance payment they have given me. . . . You will -return to Toulven. . . . Oh! I will send you money, all I earn; you -know, I shall not want much myself. We shall not see each other again, -but you will not be too unfortunate . . . as long as I live."</p> - -<p>She wanted to throw her arms round him, to hold him with all her -strength, to struggle, to cling to him when he was going away, if needs -be to let herself be dragged down the staircase, and even into the -street. . . . But no, something held her bound where she stood: first -the knowledge that all that she might do could be of no avail, and then -a sense of dignity, there, where their son lay asleep. . . . And she -remained against the wall, without a movement.</p> - -<p>He had placed two hundred francs in large silver pieces on the table -near him. They represented the payment that had been made to him in -advance, all that remained of it, after he had paid for his clothes. He -looked at her now very thoughtfully, very kindly, and with his woollen -sleeve brushed off some tears that were rolling down his cheeks.</p> - -<p>But he had nothing more to say to her. And now the last minute had come -and all was over.</p> - -<p>He bent again for a last time over his little son, then straightened -himself and got up to go.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXXXII">CHAPTER LXXXII</a></h4> - - -<blockquote> -<p>And the Celts mourned three barren rocks under a lowering sky, in the -heart of a gulf dotted with islets.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">—G. FLAUBERT, SALAMMBÔ.</p></blockquote> - - -<p>The Coral Sea! At the Antipodes of our old world. Nothing but blue -anywhere. Around the ship which proceeds slowly, the infinite blue -spreads its perfect circle. The surface shines and glitters under the -eternal sun.</p> - -<p>Yves is there, alone, carried high in the air in a thing which -oscillates slowly; he passes, in his top.</p> - -<p>He gazes, with unseeing eyes at the limitless circle; he is as it were -dazed with space and light. His expressionless eyes come to rest at -hazard, for, everywhere, all is alike.</p> - -<p>Everywhere, all is alike. . . . It is the great blind, unconscious -splendour of things which men believe have been made for them. Over the -surface of the waters pass life-giving breezes which no one breathes; -warmth and light are poured out in abundance; all the sources of life -are open on the silent solitudes of the sea and fill them with a strange -glory.</p> - -<p>The surface shines and glitters under the eternal sun. The great blaze -of noon falls into the blue desert in a useless and wasted magnificence.</p> - -<p>Presently Yves thinks he can discern in the distance a trail less blue, -and his attention, which just now wandered idly over the sparkling and -tranquil monotony, is concentrated upon it: it is no doubt the sea -breaking into foam over the whiteness of coral, breaking on isles -unknown, level with the water, which no map has yet shown.</p> - -<p>How far away is Brittany—and the green lanes of Toulven—and -his little son!</p> - -<p>Yves has come out of his dream, and is watching, his hand shading his -eyes, that distant trail which still shows white.</p> - -<p>He does not look like a deserter, for he is wearing still the blue -collar of the navy.</p> - -<p>Now he can distinguish the breakers and the coral quite clearly, and he -leans over a little in the air, and calls out to those below: "Reefs on -the port bow."</p> - -<p>No, Yves has not deserted, for the ship he is on is the warship -<i>Primauguet.</i></p> - -<p>He has not deserted, for he is still with me, and when he announced from -aloft the approach of the reefs it was I who climbed up to him in his -top, to reconnoitre with him.</p> - -<p>At Brest on that unhappy day when he had decided to leave us, I had seen -him pass in common seaman's garb, carrying his sailor's kit so neatly -folded in a handkerchief, and I had followed him at a distance as far as -Recouvrance. I had let Marie enter and then I had entered too, after -them; and as he came out he had found me waiting outside his door, -barring his passage with my outspread arms—as, once before, at Toulven. -Only this time it was not merely a matter of checking a childish -caprice; I was about to engage in a supreme struggle with him.</p> - -<p>And long and cruel the struggle was, and there was a moment when I -almost lost heart and abandoned him to the gloomy destiny which was -carrying him away. And then, abruptly, it had ended. Tears came to save -him, tears that had been wanting to come for the last two days—but -could not, so little used were his eyes to this form of weakness. Then -we put little Pierre, who had just awakened, on his knee; his little -Pierre bore him no ill-will at all, but put his arms straightway round -his neck. And Yves, at last, had said to me:</p> - -<p>"Very well, brother, I will do anything you tell me to do. But, no -matter what, you must see now that I am done for. . . ."</p> - -<p>His case was indeed very serious and I did not know myself what course -to take: it was a sort of rebellion, to have escaped from the ship after -having been sentenced to irons, and then to have absented himself for -three days! I had been tempted to say to them, after I had made them -embrace: "Desert both of you, all three of you, my dear friends; for it -is too late now to do anything better. Let Yves go away on the -<i>Belle-Rose</i> and do you go and join him in America."</p> - -<p>But no, that was too desperate a remedy, to abandon for ever their -Breton land, and the little house at Toulven, and their old parents!</p> - -<p>So, trembling a little at my responsibility, I had taken the contrary -decision: to return that very evening the advance already received, to -free Yves from the hands of this Captain Kerjean, and, when morning -came, as soon as the port should open, to hand him over to the naval -authorities. Anxious days had followed, days of applications and of -waiting, and at last, with much leniency and kindness, the matter had -been settled in this way: a month in irons and six months' suspension -from the rating of petty officer, with return to the pay of a simple -sailor.</p> - -<p>That is how my poor Yves, embarked once more with me on this -<i>Primauguet</i>, finds himself back in the crow's nest, again a topman as -before, and performing the rough work he knew of old.</p> - -<p>Standing, both of us, on the yard of the foresail, our bodies swung out -into the void, with one hand shading our eyes, with the other holding on -to the cordage, we watched together, in the distance of the resplendent -blue solitudes, the white line of breakers growing ever more distinct; -the continuous noise they made was like the distant sound of a church -organ in the midst of the silence of the sea.</p> - -<p>It was in fact a large coral island which no navigator had hitherto -discovered; it had risen slowly from the depths below; century after -century it had put forth patiently its branches of stone; even now it -was only an immense crown of white foam, making, amid the infinite calm -of the sea, the noise of a living thing, a kind of mysterious and -eternal murmuring.</p> - -<p>Everywhere else the blue expanse was uniform, safe, deep, infinite; we -could proceed on our way without misgiving.</p> - -<p>"You have won <i>the double</i>, brother," I said to Yves.</p> - -<p>I meant: the double ration of wine at dinner. On board, this <i>double</i> is -the usual recompense for a sailor who has been the first to sight land -or to announce a danger—or for him who catches a rat without the -help of a trap—or even for him who has turned himself out more smartly -than the others for the Sunday inspection.</p> - -<p>Yves smiled, but with the air of one who suddenly has a sombre -thought.</p> - -<p>"You know very well that now wine and I . . . But that's no matter, I -can give it to the topmen at my table. They will drink it willingly -enough."</p> - -<p>It was the fact that since the day when he had pushed little Pierre -against the fire-irons in the grate, far away, in Brest, he had drunk -only water. He had sworn this on the poor little wounded head, and it -was the first solemn oath of his life.</p> - -<p>We were talking together, in the pure virgin air, among the loosely -hanging sails, which looked very white in the sun, when the sound of a -whistle came from below, a quite distinctive whistle which meant in -nautical language: "The leader of the foresail top is wanted below. Let -him come down quickly!"</p> - -<p>It was Yves who was leader of the foresail top; he descended in great -haste to see what was wanted of him. The second-in-command had asked to -see him in his room; and I knew very well why.</p> - -<p>In the remote and tranquil seas in which we were cruising the sailors -became rather hazy about the seasons, the months and the days; they lost -the sense of the passage of time in the monotony of the days.</p> - -<p>And in fact summer and winter had lost their qualities; they were no -longer recognizable, for the climate was different. Nor did the things -of nature serve now to mark them out. There was always this infinity of -water, always this wooden house in which we dwelt, and, in the spring, -there came no touch of green.</p> - -<p>Yves had resumed without difficulty his former occupation, his habits of -topman, his life in the crow's nest, well-nigh naked, exposed to wind -and sun, with his knife and his "mooring." He had ceased to count the -days because they were all alike, merged one into another by the -regularity of the watches, by the alternation of a sun that was always -hot with nights that were always clear. He had accepted this time of -exile without measuring it.</p> - -<p>But to-day was the day when his six months of punishment expired; and -the captain had to tell him to take back his stripes, his silver whistle -and his authority as petty officer. He did so with much cordiality and -shook him by the hand; for Yves, while his punishment had lasted, had -shown himself exemplary in conduct and courage and no top had ever been -kept like his.</p> - -<p>Yves came back to me with a broad smile of happiness:</p> - -<p>"Why didn't you tell me it was to-day?"</p> - -<p>He had been promised that, if he went on as he was going, his punishment -would soon be quite forgotten. Clearly, the oath he had taken on the -wounded head of his little Pierre, at the end of that dreadful evening, -was succeeding beyond his hope.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXXXIII">CHAPTER LXXXIII</a></h4> - - -<p>The afternoon of the same day. Yves is in my room, busy putting his -stripes on his sleeves, in haste to finish before darkness falls, -looking comical as always, with his big air of sea-rover, when he is -engaged in sewing.</p> - -<p>They are not very elegant, his poor clothes; they show signs of hard -wear. For he was not rich when he left Brest with his reduced pay; and, -so as not to break into his allowance, he had refrained from drawing too -many things from the store. But they are so clean, the little woollen -stripes are so neatly placed one above the other, on each forearm and on -the bottom of each sleeve, that he will pass muster very well. These new -stripes give them even a certain lustre of youth. Besides, Yves looks -well in anything; and then, too, one wears very little clothing on -board, and as he will put them on but rarely, they will certainly serve -him until the end of the voyage. As for money, Yves has none; he has -forgotten even the use and value of it, as often happens to sailors—for -he allots to his wife, at Brest, his pay and his stripe-money, all that -he earns.</p> - -<p>By the time it is dark, his work is finished. He carefully folds his -coat and then sweeps away the little ends of thread which he has let -fall on the floor. Then he informs himself very exactly of the month and -the date, lights a candle, and begins to write.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p style="margin-left: 30%;">"AT SEA, ON BOARD THE <i>Primauguet</i>,</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">"23<i>rd April</i>, 1882.</p> - - -<p>"MY DEAR WIFE,—I am writing these few words in advance to-day in M. -Pierre's room. I will post them next month when we touch at the Hawaii -Islands (a country . . . but I don't suppose you will know where it is).</p> - -<p>"I want to tell you that I have recovered my stripes to-day and that you -may set your mind at rest, I shall not lose them again; I have sewn them -on <i>very tight</i> this time.</p> - -<p>"Dear wife, this reminds me that it is only six months since we parted, -and that it will be a long time yet before we see each other again. But -I assure you that I should dearly love to be back for a time at Toulven, -to give you a hand in getting our house ready; and yet, it is not simply -for that, you know, but above all, to spend some time with you, and to -see our little Pierre running about. They will have to give me a long -leave when we return, at least fifteen or twenty days; indeed I do not -think twenty will be enough and I shall ask for as many as thirty.</p> - -<p>"Dear Marie, I can tell you, however, that I am very happy on board, -especially because I have been able to embark with M. Pierre. It is what -I had hoped for for a very long time. It has been a very fine voyage and -a very economical one for me who have need to save a lot of money as you -know. Perhaps I may get another promotion before we disembark, seeing -that I am on very good terms with all the officers.</p> - -<p>"I have also to tell you that the flying fish . . ."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>Crack! On deck someone whistles: "Aloft everyone!" Yves hurries away; -and no one has ever heard the end of the story of the flying fish.</p> - -<p>He has preserved with his wife his childlike manner of being and -writing. With me, he is changed, he has become a new Yves, more complex, -more sophisticated than the Yves of old.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXXXIV">CHAPTER LXXXIV</a></h4> - - -<p>The night which follows is clear and exquisite. We are moving very -slowly, in the Coral sea, before a light, warm breeze, advancing with -precaution, in fear of encountering white islands, listening to the -silence, in fear of hearing the murmur of reefs.</p> - -<p>From midnight to four o'clock in the morning, the time of the watch has -passed in vigil, amid the great, strange peace of the southern waters.</p> - -<p>Everything is of a blue-green, of a blue of night, of a colour of -infinite depth; the moon, which at first sails high in the heaven, -throws little flickering reflections on the sea, as if everywhere, on -the immense empty plain, mysterious hands were agitating silently -thousands of little mirrors.</p> - -<p>The half-hours pass one after another, undisturbed, the breeze steady, -the sails very lightly stretched. The sailors of the watch, in their -linen clothes, are asleep on the bare deck, in rows, all on the same -side, fitted in one with another, like rows of white mummies.</p> - -<p>At each half-hour a bell rings, startlingly; and two voices come from -the bow of the ship, singing out one after the other, in a kind of slow -rhythm: "Keep a look out on the port bow!" says one. "Keep a look out on -the starboard bow!" replies the other. The noise is surprising, -producing the impression of a formidable clamour in all this silence; -and then the vibrations of the voices and of the bell die away and there -is no longer a sound.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the moon is slowly sinking and its blue light grows wan; it is -much nearer the water now and its reflection in it makes a long trail of -light.</p> - -<p>It becomes yellower, scarcely giving any light, like a dying lamp.</p> - -<p>Slowly, it begins to get larger, disproportionately larger; then it -becomes red, loses its shape, and is swallowed up, strange, terrifying. -And then what one sees has no longer a name: on the horizon is a great -dull fire, blood-red. It is too large to be the moon, and, besides, -distant things now mass in front of it in large dark shadows; colossal -towers, toppling mountains, palaces, Babels!</p> - -<p>One feels as it were a veil of darkness weighing upon the senses. There -comes to you an impression of apocalyptic cities, of clouds heavy with -blood, of suspended maledictions; a conception of gigantic horrors, of -chaotic destructions, of the end of the world. . . .</p> - -<p>For a moment the mind has slept, involuntarily; and a waking dream has -come and gone, very quickly.</p> - -<p>Mirage! And now it is over and the moon has set. There was nothing -beyond save the infinite sea and floating mists announcing the approach -of dawn; now that the moon is no longer behind them, they are not even -discernible. All has vanished and the darkness has returned, the real -darkness of night, clear and calm as ever.</p> - -<p>They are far away from us, those countries of the Apocalypse: for we are -in the Coral Sea, on the other side of the world, and there is nothing -here but the immense circle, the limitless mirror of the waters. . . .</p> - -<p>A signalman has gone to see the time by the chronometer. Out of -deference to the moon, he is going to note in the large register, always -open, which is the ship's log, the precise moment at which it set.</p> - -<p>Then he comes to me and says:</p> - -<p>"Captain, it is time to call the watch." My four hours of the night -watch are already finished, then, and the officer to relieve me will -shortly make his appearance.</p> - -<p>I give the order:</p> - -<p>"Master-gunners and loaders, call the watch!"<a name="FNanchor_5_1" id="FNanchor_5_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_1" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p> - -<p>Then, some of those who were sleeping on the deck, like white mummies, -get up and awaken some of the others; they move off in a group and go -below. And then, from the spar-deck, comes the sound of twenty voices, -singing one after the other—in the manner of glee-singing—a very -ancient air, at once joyous and mocking.</p> - -<p>They sing:</p> - -<p>"Have you heard, you larboard men, get up for the watch, get up, get up, -get up! . . . Have you heard, you larboard men, get up for the watch, -get up, get up, get up! . . ."</p> - -<p>They move hither and thither, stooping under the suspended hammocks, -and, as they pass, shake the sleepers with thrusts of their powerful -shoulders.</p> - -<p>And presently, inexorable, I give the order:</p> - -<p>"Fall in on deck, the larboard watch!"</p> - -<p>And they come up half-naked; there are some who yawn, others who stretch -themselves, who stumble. They line up in groups, while a man, with a -lantern, peers into their faces and counts them. The others who were -sleeping on deck go below and sleep in their place.</p> - -<p>Yves has come up with the men of the larboard watch who have just been -awakened. I recognize at once his way of whistling which I had not heard -now for a year. And presently I recognize his voice which rings out in -command for the first time on the deck of the <i>Primauguet.</i></p> - -<p>Then I call him very officially by the title which has just been -restored to him: "Master of the Watch."</p> - -<p>It was only to shake him by the hand, to wish him good luck and good -night before I went to bed.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_1" id="Footnote_5_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_1"><span class="label">[5]</span></a>The regulation order. On board the crew is divided into a -number of groups, each forming a gun's crew. The master-gunner and the -loaders escort the men of their group and awaken those who replace them -for the watch.</p></div> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXXXV">CHAPTER LXXXV</a></h4> - - -<p>"Haul away there, Goulven!"</p> - -<p>It was a difficult boarding. I had come, in a cutter from the -<i>Primauguet</i>, to examine a suspicious-looking whaling ship, which -showed no flag.</p> - -<p>In the southern ocean, still; near the Isle of Tonga, and to windward of -it. The <i>Primauguet</i> itself was anchored in a bay of the island, within -the line of reefs, in the shelter of a coral bank. The whaler lay -off-shore almost in the open sea, as if in readiness for flight, and the -swell was heavy about her.</p> - -<p>I had been sent with a party to reconnoitre her, to "speak" to her as we -say in the navy.</p> - -<p>"Haul away there, Goulven! Haul!"</p> - -<p>I looked up at the man who was called Goulven; he was the one, who, on -the deck of the equivocal craft, held the rope which had just been -thrown to me. And I was struck by his face, by his familiar look: he was -another Yves, not so young, more sunburnt and more athletic -perhaps—harsher in feature, as one who had suffered more—but he -was so like him in the eyes, in the expression, that he looked to me like -his double.</p> - -<p>I had sometimes thought that we might come across this brother Goulven, -on one of these whaling boats which we found, now and then, in the -anchorages of the southern seas, and which we "spoke" to when we did not -like their look.</p> - -<p>I went straight to him, without worrying about the captain, who was a -huge American, headed like a pirate, with a long, thick, seaweed-like -beard. I entered there as on conquered territory and etiquette mattered -little to me.</p> - -<p>"So it's you, Goulven Kermadec?"</p> - -<p>And I advanced towards him holding out my hand, so sure was I of his -identity.</p> - -<p>But he, for his part, paled under his tan, and shrank back. He was -afraid.</p> - -<p>And I saw him, in an instinct of uncivilized man, clenching his fists, -stiffening his muscles, as if prepared to resist to the utmost, in a -desperate struggle.</p> - -<p>Poor Goulven! The surprise of hearing me call him by his name—and -then my uniform—and the sixteen armed sailors who accompanied me, -had been too much for him. He thought that I had come in the name of the -law of France, to seize him, and, like Yves, he became exasperated under -the threat of force.</p> - -<p>It took a minute or two to reassure him; and then when he was persuaded -that his <i>little brother</i> had become mine, and that he was hard by, on -the warship from which I had come, he asked my pardon for his fear with -the same frank smile I knew so well in Yves.</p> - -<p>It was a singular looking crew. The boat itself had the movements and -the appearance of a pirate-ship. Licked and fretted by the sea, during -the three years in which it had wandered in the swell of the great ocean -without having once touched any civilized country, but solid still, and -built for the seas' highways. In its shrouds, from bottom to top, on -each ratline, hung whale's fins, looking like long dark fringes. One -would have said that it had passed under the water and become covered -with seaweed.</p> - -<p>Within, it was laden with the fats and oils from the bodies of all the -great beasts which they had slain. There was enough there to make a -small fortune, and the captain was reckoning on returning shortly to -America, to California where his home was.</p> - -<p>A mixed crew: two Frenchmen, two Americans, three Spaniards, a -German, an Indian "boy," and a Chinese cook. In addition a Peruvian -<i>chola</i>—half-naked like the men—who was the wife of the -captain and was suckling a baby two months old conceived and born -at sea.</p> - -<p>The living quarters of this family, in the stern, had oak walls as thick -as ramparts, and doors barred with iron. Within was a veritable arsenal -of revolvers, knuckle-dusters, and life-preservers. Precautions had been -taken; if occasion arose one would be able there to stand a siege by the -whole crew.</p> - -<p>For the rest, her papers were in order. She had not hoisted a flag for -the simple reason that she had not got one; beetles had eaten the last, -of which they showed me the rags to substantiate their excuse; it had -the American colours right enough, red and white stripes, with the -starred Jack. There was nothing to be said; everything was, in fact, -correct.</p> - -<p>. . . Goulven asked me if I knew Plouherzel; and I told him how I had -slept one night under his mother's roof.</p> - -<p>"And you," I said, "are you never going to return."</p> - -<p>I could see that he was much moved.</p> - -<p>"It is too late now. I should have my punishment to do for the State, -and I am married in California. I have two children in Sacramento."</p> - -<p>"Will you come with me to see Yves?"</p> - -<p>"Come with you?" he repeated darkly, in a low voice. He seemed -astonished at what I proposed to him. "Come with you? But you know . . . -I am a deserter?"</p> - -<p>At this moment he was so like Yves, he said this so exactly as Yves -might have said it, that I felt a pang.</p> - -<p>After all, I understood his fears of a man free and jealous of his -liberty; I respected his terrors of French territory—for the deck of a -warship is French territory—on board the <i>Primauguet.</i> We should have -the right to arrest him; that was the law.</p> - -<p>"At any rate you would like to see him?"</p> - -<p>"Like to see him! . . . My poor little Yves!"</p> - -<p>"Very well, then, I will bring him to you. When he comes, all I ask of -you is that you will advise him to be steady. You understand . . . -Goulven?"</p> - -<p>It was he then who took my hand and pressed it in his.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXXXVI">CHAPTER LXXXVI</a></h4> - - -<p>I had accepted an invitation to dinner on the following day with the -captain of the whaler. We had got on famously together. His manners were -not those of polite society, but there was nothing vulgar or commonplace -about him. And besides it was the only way in which I could get Yves on -board his ship.</p> - -<p>I half expected on the following morning, at daybreak, to find that the -whaler had disappeared, flown during the night like a wild bird. But no; -there it was in its position off-shore, with all its black fringes in -its shrouds, standing out against the great circular mirror of the -waters; which, on that morning, were motionless, and heavy, and -gleaming, like coulées of silver.</p> - -<p>The invitation was seriously meant, therefore, and they were waiting for -me. As a precaution, the captain had decided that the crew of the cutter -which took me should be armed and should remain with me throughout. This -fitted in admirably so far as Yves was concerned, and I took him with me -as coxswain.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXXXVII">CHAPTER LXXXVII</a></h4> - - -<p>The captain received me on his quarter-deck, dressed in reasonably -correct American fashion; the <i>chola</i>, transformed, wore a red silk -dress with a magnificent collar of pearls collected on the Pomoto -islands; I was struck by her good looks and her perfect figure.</p> - -<p>We repair together to the room of the formidable iron-barred walls. It -is dark and gloomy there; but, through the little deep-set windows, we -see the splendour of what look like enchanted things: a sea of a milky -blue, and with the polish of a turquoise, a distant island, of a purple -iris colour, and a multitude of little orange-tinted clouds floating in -a golden green sky.</p> - -<p>Afterwards when we turn our eyes from these little open windows, from -the contemplation of all this light, the low-pitched cabin seems -stranger than before, with its irregular shape and its massive beams, -its arsenal of revolvers, of knuckle-dusters, leather thongs and whips.</p> - -<p>The dinner consists of tinned foods from San Francisco, exquisite fruits -from the Isle of Tonga-Taboo, needle-fish, slim little inhabitants of -the warm seas; and we drink French wines, Peruvian <i>pisco</i> and English -liqueurs.</p> - -<p>The Chinaman who waits upon us wears a silk robe of episcopal violet and -slippers with thick paper soles. The <i>chola</i> sings a <i>zamacuéca</i> of -Chile, playing, on a <i>diguhela</i>, a sort of accompaniment which sounds -like the monotonous little clatter of a trotting mule. The doors of the -fortress are wide open. Thanks to the presence of my sixteen armed men, -a sense of security reigns, a peaceful intimacy, which are really very -touching.</p> - -<p>In the bow the men from the <i>Primauguet</i> are drinking and singing with -the crew of the whaler. It is a general holiday on board. And, from the -distance, I see Yves and Goulven, who, for their part, are not drinking, -walking up and down in conversation. Goulven, the taller of the two, has -passed his arm round the shoulders of his brother, who holds him, in -turn, round the waist. Isolated from the rest they continued their -stroll, talking together in a low voice.</p> - -<p>The glasses were emptied everywhere in strange toasts. The captain, who -at first resembled the impassive statue of a marine or river god, woke -up, and began to laugh a powerful laugh which shook his whole body; his -mouth opened like that of a cetacean, and he started to talk of strange -things in English, forgetting himself so far in his confidences as to -tell me things for which he might well have been hanged; his -conversation turns into a pretty tale of unmitigated piracy. . . .</p> - -<p>The <i>chola</i> retires to her cabin, and a tattooed sailor is brought in -and undressed during the dessert. The object of this is to show me the -tattooing which represents a fox hunt.</p> - -<p>It begins at the neck: horsemen, hounds, in full cry, wind in a spiral -round his body.</p> - -<p>"You haven't yet seen the fox?" the captain asks me with a boisterous -laugh.</p> - -<p>The discovery of the fox, it seems, is going to be a very funny -business, for he is ready to die with laughter at the thought of it. And -he makes the man, who is already tipsy, turn round and round several -times so that we may follow the hunt which continues its downward -course. In the neighbourhood of his loins, the hunt thickens and one -foresees the end is near.</p> - -<p>"See! there he is!" cries the captain with the head of a river god, at -the height of his savage merriment, throwing himself back, transported -with satisfaction and laughter.</p> - -<p>The hunted beast has gone to earth; only half of it can be seen. And -that is the great culminating surprise. The sailor is invited to drink -with us, as a reward for letting us see him.</p> - -<p>It was time to go on deck and get a little pure air, the fresh and -delicious air of the evening. The sea, which still was motionless and -heavy, gleamed in the distance, reflecting the last lights that came -from the west. And now the men began to dance to a jig-like air played -on a flute.</p> - -<p>As they danced the men cast sidelong glances at us, half in shy -curiosity, half in scornful disdain. They had some of those tricks of -physiognomy which sea-going men have preserved from our primitive -ancestors; and comical gestures at every turn, an excessive mimicry, -like animals in the wild state. Sometimes they threw themselves back, -cambering their bodies; sometimes, by virtue of natural suppleness and -their habits of stratagem, they crouched down, arching their backs, in -the manner of wild beasts when they walk in the light of day. Round and -round they went, to the sound of the fluted music, of the little -jigging, infantine tol-de-rol-lol; very serious, dancing very well, with -graceful poses of arms and circular movements of legs.</p> - -<p>But Yves and Goulven continued to walk up and down together. They had -many things still to say to each other, and they were making the most of -these last final minutes, for they knew that I was about to leave. They -had seen each other once, fifteen years before, while Yves was still -quite a little fellow, on that day which Goulven had spent at -Plouherzel, in hiding like a fugitive, and, as far as could be seen, -they would never meet again.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, we saw two of the dancers seize each other round the waist, -throw themselves to the ground, still close grappled one with the other, -and then begin to fight, to throttle one another, taken with a sudden -rage; they tried to use their knives and already there were red marks of -blood on the deck.</p> - -<p>The captain with the river god head separated them by lashing them both -with a whip of hippopotamus hide.</p> - -<p>"No matter," he said in English; "they are drunk!"</p> - -<p>It was time to go. Goulven and Yves embraced each other, and I saw tears -in Goulven's eyes.</p> - -<p>As we were returning over the tranquil sea, the first southern stars -enkindling on high, Yves spoke to me of his brother:</p> - -<p>"He is not very happy. Although he earns a good deal of money and has a -little house in California, to which he hopes to return. But there it -is; it is the longing for his home country which is killing him."</p> - -<p>This captain promised to bring his <i>chola</i> to have dinner with me on the -following day on my ship. But, during the night, the whaler put to sea, -vanished into the empty immensity; we never saw her again.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXXXVIII">CHAPTER LXXXVIII</a></h4> - - -<p>"And so you have come to get your allowance, too Madame Quéméneur?"</p> - -<p>"And you, too, Madame Kerdoncuff?"</p> - -<p>"And where is your husband now, Madam Quéméneur?"</p> - -<p>"In China, Madame Kerdoncuff, on the <i>Kerguelen</i>."</p> - -<p>"And mine, too, you know, Madame Quéméneur; he is there, too, on the -<i>Vénus</i>."</p> - -<p>It is in the Rue des Voutes, in Brest, with a fine rain falling, that -this dialogue of strangely shrill, falsetto voices takes place.</p> - -<p>The street is full of women who have been waiting there since the -morning, outside an ugly granite building: the sailors' pay office. -Women of Brest, deterred in no wise by the cold rain, they are talking -querulously, their feet in water, hugging the walls of the mournful -little street, in the grey mist.</p> - -<p>It is the first day of the quarter. They form a queue to get their money -and none too soon, for money is wanting in all the dark dwellings of the -town.</p> - -<p>Wives of sailors far away at sea, they are waiting to draw their -allowances, the pay which those sailors have allotted them.</p> - -<p>And when they have drawn it they will spend it on drink. There is, -opposite, a tavern which has been established specially for their -convenience. It is called <i>À la mère de famille</i> and the proprietress -is one Madame Pétavin. It is known in Brest as <i>le cabaret de la -délégue</i> (the tavern of the allowance).</p> - -<p>Madame Quéméneur, pug-faced, square-jawed, big-bellied, wears a -waterproof and a bonnet of black tulle trimmed with blue shells.</p> - -<p>Madame Kerdoncuff, sickly, greenish, with a look of a blue-bottle, shows -a mean, sly-looking face under a hat trimmed with two roses with their -foliage.</p> - -<p>As the hour approaches the crowd of inebriates increases. The paying -office is besieged; there are disputes at the doors. The cashier's desk -is about to open.</p> - -<p>And Marie, the wife of Yves, is there too, in this unclean -promiscuousness, holding little Pierre by the hand. Timid, depressed, -filled with a vague fear of all these women, she allows the more -impatient to pass and waits against the wall on the side sheltered from -the rain.</p> - -<p>"Come in, my good woman, instead of letting the dear little fellow get -wet like this."</p> - -<p>It is Madame Pétavin who speaks. She has just appeared at her door, her -face wreathed in smiles.</p> - -<p>"Can I get you anything? A little of the best?"</p> - -<p>"No, thank you; I do not drink," replies Marie, who, however, seeing -that the tavern is empty, enters for fear lest her little Pierre should -catch cold. "But if I am in your way. . . ."</p> - -<p>Surely not, she was not in Madame Pétavin's way at all. Madame Pétavin -had a kind heart and made her sit down.</p> - -<p>Presently Madame Quéméneur and Madame Kerdoncuff, among the first to -be paid, enter, shut up their umbrellas, and sit down.</p> - -<p>"Madame! Madame! Bring us half a pint in two glasses."</p> - -<p>No need to ask half a pint of what. Brandy, and raw brandy at that, is -what they crave.</p> - -<p>These good ladies begin to talk:</p> - -<p>"What did you say your husband was, on the <i>Kerguelen</i>, Madame -Quéméneur?"</p> - -<p>"He's a leading seaman, Madame Kerdoncuff."</p> - -<p>"And mine, too, you know, is a leading seaman, Madame Quéméneur! Wives -of leading seamen ought to be friends! Here's to you, Victoire-Yvonne!"</p> - -<p>The women were already addressing each other by their Christian names. -The glasses were emptied.</p> - -<p>Marie turned upon them big, serious eyes, examining them suddenly with -much curiosity, as one might animals in a menagerie. And she had an -impulse to leave, to get away. But, outside, it was raining heavily, and -there was a crowd still at the door of the paying office.</p> - -<p>"Your health, Victoire-Yvonne!"</p> - -<p>"Your health, Françoise!"</p> - -<p>Glasses are replenished again.</p> - -<p>The women now begin to talk of their domestic affairs: it is difficult -enough to make ends meet! But it can't be helped! The baker, this time, -will have to wait until next quarter day. The butcher will have to be -satisfied with something on account. To-day, pay day, may not one have a -little enjoyment?</p> - -<p>"But I, you know," says Madame Kerdoncuff, with a coquettish smile full -of suggestion, "I am not too badly off, because, you see, I let a -furnished room to an old sailor, who is a petty officer in the port."</p> - -<p>There is no need to be more explicit. The face of Madame Quéméneur -wears a smile of comprehension.</p> - -<p>"And I, too, I have a quartermaster. . . . Here's to you, -Françoise! . . ." (The women whisper to each other.) "He's a gay dog, my -quartermaster, I can tell you! . . ."</p> - -<p>And the chapter of intimate confidences begins.</p> - -<p>Marie Kermadec gets up. Has she heard aright? Many of the words used are -unknown to her, it is true, but the meaning of them is transparent and -gestures make it doubly clear. Are there really women who can bring -themselves to say such things? And she goes out, without looking back, -without a word of thanks, red, conscious of her burning cheeks.</p> - -<p>"Did you see her? We have shocked her!"</p> - -<p>"Oh well, you know, she's from the country; she still wears the coif of -Bannalec; she's green yet."</p> - -<p>"Here's to you, Victoire-Yvonne!"</p> - -<p>The tavern is filling. At the door, umbrellas are closed, old -waterproofs are shaken; many more women come in, liquor flows.</p> - -<p>And, at home, are little mites puling with the voices of jackals in -distress; emaciated children whimpering from cold and hunger. So much -the worse, here's to you, for is it not pay day!</p> - -<p>When Marie got outside, she saw a group of women in large coifs who were -standing aside to make way for the press of the brazen ones; and she -went quickly and took her place amongst them so that she might once more -be in honest company. Amongst them were dear old women from the villages -who had come to draw the allowance of their sons, and who were waiting -under their cotton umbrellas, with the dignified, prim faces, which -peasant women assume in the town.</p> - -<p>As she was waiting her turn, she entered into conversation with an old -woman from Kermézeau, who told her the history of her son, a gunner on -the <i>Astrée.</i> It appeared that in his early youth he had had bouts -similar to those of Yves, but afterwards, as he got older, he had quite -settled down; one need never despair of a sailor. . . .</p> - -<p>Nevertheless in her indignation against these women of Brest, Marie had -come to a momentous decision: to return to Toulven at whatever cost, and -to-morrow if possible.</p> - -<p>As soon as she got back to her room, she began to write a long letter to -Yves giving the reasons for her decision. It was true, their tenancy of -the lodgings at Récouvrance had still three months to run and that the -little house at Toulven would not be finished for a long time yet; but -she would make up for all that by working and strict economy; she would -take in mending for the neighbours, and would goffer the large native -collarettes, work of some difficulty, which she knew how to do very -perfectly by the skilful use of very fine reeds.</p> - -<p>And she went on to tell him all the new things which little Pierre had -learnt to say and do; in very naïve terms, she told of her great love -for the absent one; she enclosed a curl, cut from a certain little brown -and very restless head; and put the whole in an envelope of thin paper -which she superscribed thus:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"To Monsieur Kermadec, Yves, Leading Seaman on board the <i>Primauguet</i>, -in the southern seas, c/o the French Consul at Panama, to be forwarded."</p></blockquote> - -<p>Poor little letter! Will it ever be delivered? Who can tell? It is not -impossible, more unlikely things have happened. In five months, six -months, travel-stained and covered with American postmarks, it will be -delivered, perhaps, faithfully to Yves, and bring him the deep love of -his wife and the brown curl of his son.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_LXXXIX">CHAPTER LXXXIX</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;"><i>May</i>, 1882.</p> - - -<p>In the evening, in the southern solitudes. The wind was rising. Over all -this moving immensity in which the <i>Primauguet</i> dwelt long dark blue -waves were chasing one another. It was a damp wind and struck chill.</p> - -<p>Below on the spar-deck, Le Hir the idiot was hastening, before darkness -fell, to sew up a corpse in pieces of grey canvas which were the remains -of sails.</p> - -<p>Yves and Barrada, standing, were watching him with a kind of horror. -They had perforce to remain close to him, in a very small mortuary -chamber, which had been made by suspending other sails and which was -guarded by a gunner, cutlass in hand.</p> - -<p>It was Barazère who was being sewn up in these grey remnants. He had -died of a disease contracted long before in Algiers—on a night of -pleasure. . . . Many times he had believed himself cured; but the deadly -poison remained in his blood, reappeared from time to time, and at last -had killed him. Towards the end he had been covered with hideous sores -and his friends had avoided him.</p> - -<p>It fell to Le Hir to sew him up, for all the others had refused, out of -fear of his malady. Le Hir had accepted on the strength of a promise of -a pint of wine.</p> - -<p>The rolling of the ship worried him, hampered him in his work, kept -shifting the corpse out of position; and he was eager to be done and to -get the wine that was waiting for him.</p> - -<p>First, the feet; he had been told to bind them tight on account of the -cannon-ball which is attached to the dead body to make it sink. Then the -legs; and presently the body was entirely hidden, enveloped in many -thicknesses of coarse canvas; only the pale face was now visible, -tranquil in death, and looking strangely handsome with a peaceful smile. -And then roughly, with a brutal indifference, Le Hir drew over it an end -of the grey canvas and the face was veiled for ever.</p> - -<p>In a French village the old parents of this Barazère were looking -forward to the day of his return.</p> - -<p>When the job was done Yves and Barrada came out of the mortuary chamber -pushing Le Hir before them by the shoulders, to see that he washed his -hands before he drank his wine.</p> - -<p>They had been exchanging ideas about death apparently, for Barrada, as -he came out, said in his Bordeaux accent:</p> - -<p>"Ah! Nonsense! It is with men as with beasts; others will come, but -those who die . . ."</p> - -<p>And he finished by laughing that curious laugh of his, which sounded -deep and hollow like a roar.</p> - -<p>From his lips, there was nothing impious in the phrase; it was simply -that he knew nothing better to say.</p> - -<p>They were both, as a matter of fact, much moved; they grieved for -Barazère. Now, the malady which had caused them fear was covered up, -forgotten; in their memory, the dead man had emerged from that final -impurity and become suddenly ennobled; they saw him again as in the time -of his strength, and in thinking of him they were moved to pity.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XC">CHAPTER XC</a></h4> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"There's no foppery in a sailor who has washed his skin in the waters of -five or six oceans."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>On the following morning, when the sun rose, the wind was still fresh. -The <i>Primauguet</i> was moving very quickly, rocking in its course with the -supple and vigorous movement of a mighty runner. In the bow the men -released from the watch were singing as they made their morning toilet, -stripped, resembling, with their muscular arms and shoulders, the -statues of ancient Greece; they were washing themselves liberally in -cold water; they plunged their head and shoulders into tubs, covered -their chests with a white foam of soap and then, turn and turn about, -rubbed one another down.</p> - -<p>Suddenly they remembered the dead man and their blythe song subsided. -For they had just seen the men of the other watch assembling at the -order of their officer and lining up in the stern, as if for an -inspection. They guessed why and drew near.</p> - -<p>A long new plank had been placed crosswise on the nettings, overhanging, -making a kind of see-saw over the water, and a sinister thing which -seemed very heavy, a sheath of grey canvas which betrayed a human form, -had just been brought up from below.</p> - -<p>When Barazère was laid on the long new plank, suspended in mid air over -the foaming waves, the bonnets of the sailors were all removed in a last -salute; a signalman recited a prayer, hands made the sign of the -cross—and then, at my command, the plank was tilted and there came the -dull sound of a heavy thing plunging into the water.</p> - -<p>The <i>Primauguet</i> passed on its way, and the body of Barazère sank into -the abyss, immense in depth and extent, of the great ocean.</p> - -<p>Then, very softly, as a reproach, I repeated to Yves who was near me, -the phrase of the night before:</p> - -<p>"It is with men as with beasts: more will come, but . . ."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" he replied; "it was not I who said that; it was he." -(<i>He</i>—that is to say, Barrada—heard him and turned his head -towards us. There were tears in his eyes.)</p> - -<p>We looked behind us with uneasiness, at the wake; for it happens -sometimes, when the following shark is there, that a stain of blood -appears on the surface of the sea.</p> - -<p>But no, there was nothing; he had descended in peace into the depths -below.</p> - -<p>An infinite descent, first rapid as in a fall; then slow, slow, petering -out little by little in the ever-increasing density of the deeper -waters. A mysterious journey of many leagues into unplumbed abysms; -during which the darkened sun shows first like a pale moon, then turns -green, then trembles, and finally is effaced. And then the eternal -darkness begins; the waters rise, rise, gathering over the head of the -dead traveller like the waters of a deluge which should reach up to the -stars.</p> - -<p>But, below, the dead body has lost its loathsomeness; matter is never -unclean in an absolute sense. In the darkness the invisible animals of -the deep waters will come and encompass it; the mysterious madrepores -will put forth upon it their branches, eating it very slowly with the -thousand little mouths of their living flowers.</p> - -<p>This grave of sailors cannot be violated by any human hand. He who has -descended to sleep below is more dead than any other dead man; nothing -of him will ever appear again; never will he mingle with that old dust -of men which, on the surface of the earth, is for ever seeking to -recombine in an eternal effort to live again. He belongs to the life of -the world below; he is going to pass into plants of colourless stone, -into sluggish animals which are without shape and without eyes. . . .</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XCI">CHAPTER XCI</a></h4> - - -<p>On the evening of the burial of Barazère, Yves had brought his friend -Jean Barrada with him to my room. They were now the only survivors of -the old band: Kerboul, Le Hello, had been sleeping for many a long day -at the bottom of the sea, to which they too had descended in the -fullness of youth; the others had left to join the merchant service, or -had returned to their villages: all were scattered.</p> - -<p>Yves and Barrada were very old friends. On shore, when they were -together, it was not good to cross them in their whims.</p> - -<p>I can still see the two of them sitting there before me, sharing the -same chair on account of the limited space of the room, holding on with -one hand in the habit learnt from the rolling of the ship, and looking -at me with attentive eyes. For I was endeavouring to prove to them on -this evening that <i>it was not with men as with beasts</i>, and to speak to -them of the mysterious <i>beyond</i>. . . . And they, with Barazère's death -fresh in their memory, were listening to me surprised, fascinated, in -the midst of that very special peacefulness of calm evenings at sea, a -peacefulness which predisposes to the comprehension of the -incomprehensible.</p> - -<p>Old arguments repeated over and over again at school which I developed -to them and which it seemed to me might still make an impression on -their young minds. . . . It was perhaps very stupid, this discourse on -immortality; but it did them no harm; on the contrary.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XCII">CHAPTER XCII</a></h4> - - -<p>These seas in which the <i>Primauguet</i> was were almost always of the same -lapis blue; it was the region of the trade winds and of fine weather -without an end.</p> - -<p>Sometimes, in our passage from one group of islands to another, we had -to cross the Equator, to pass through the motionless immensities and -mournful splendours.</p> - -<p>And afterwards, when, in one hemisphere or the other, we ran into the -life-giving trade wind again, when the awakened <i>Primauguet</i> began once -more to gather speed, then one realized better, by contrast, the charm -of moving quickly, the charm of being on this great, inclined, quivering -thing which seemed to be alive, and which obeyed you, alert and supple, -as it sped onwards.</p> - -<p>When we sailed eastward in these regions of the trade winds, we sailed -close to the wind; and then the <i>Primauguet</i> rushed upon the regular, -crisped waves of the tropics for whole days, without ever getting tired, -with little joyous flutterings such as sportive fishes might have.</p> - -<p>Afterwards, when we returned on our course, with the wind behind us, -fully rigged, every inch of our white canvas spread, our progress, rapid -as it was, became so easy, so effortless, that we no longer felt that we -were moving; we were lifted up as it were in a kind of flight and our -movement was like the soaring of a bird.</p> - -<p>As far as the sailors were concerned one day was very much like -another.</p> - -<p>Every morning there was first of all a kind of frenzy of cleaning which -began with the réveillé. One saw them, half-awake, jump up and start -running to commence as quickly as might be the great diurnal washing. -Naked, in their pompomed bonnets, or maybe wearing a "tricot de combat" -(a little knitted thing for the neck, not unlike a baby's bib) they set -to work to swill the deck. Water spurted from hosepipes; water was flung -by hand from buckets. Wasting no time they threw it over legs and over -backs until they were all besplashed, all streaming; they overturned -everything in order to wash everything; afterwards, scouring the deck, -already clean and white, with mops and scrapers to make it cleaner and -whiter still.</p> - -<p>Sometimes they would be ordered to break off and go aloft to make some -alteration in the rigging, to shake out a reef or trim the sails; then -they would dress themselves hastily, for decency's sake, before -climbing, and quickly carry out the manœuvre ordered, eager to get down -again and amuse themselves in the water.</p> - -<p>This is the work which makes arms strong and chests round; and the feet, -too, from being used to climbing bare, become in some measure -prehensile, like those of monkeys.</p> - -<p>At about eight o'clock, at the roll of a drum, the washing would be -done. Then, while the hot sun was quickly drying all these things which -they had made wet, they would begin to furbish; the copper-work, the -iron-work, even the ordinary rings were made to shine like mirrors. Each -one would address himself to the little pulley, the little object, the -toilet of which had been specially entrusted to him and would polish it -with solicitude, stepping back every now and then with a critical air to -see how it looked, to see whether it did him credit. And, around these -great children, was still and always the blue circle, the inexorable -blue circle, the resplendent solitude, profound, having no end, where -nothing ever changed and nothing ever passed.</p> - -<p>Nothing passed save the madcap bands of flying fish, moving like arrows, -so rapidly that one had time only to see the glistening of their wings -and they were gone. They were of several kinds; some large, which were -steel-blue in colour; some smaller and rarer which seemed to have -colours of mauve and peony; they surprised you by their rosy flight, -and, when you tried to distinguish them, it was too late; a little patch -of water eddied still and sparkled in the sunshine as if under a hail of -bullets; it was there they had made their plunge, but they were no -longer there.</p> - -<p>Sometimes a frigate bird—a great mysterious bird which is always -alone—crossed, at a great height, the regions of the air, flying -straight with its narrow wings and scissor-like tail, hastening as if it -had a goal. Then the sailors pointed out to one another the strange -traveller, following it with their eyes as long as it remained in sight, -and its passage was recorded in the ship's log.</p> - -<p>But a ship, never; they are too large, these southern seas; there are no -meetings there.</p> - -<p>Once, however, we came across a little oceanic island surrounded by a -white belt of coral. Some women who dwelt there approached in canoes, -and the captain allowed them to clamber on board, guessing why they had -come. They all had admirable figures, eyes of true savages, scarcely -opened and fringed with very heavy lashes, and teeth of wonderful -whiteness which their laugh revealed to their whole extent. On their -skin, which was of the colour of reddish copper, were very complicated -tattooings resembling a network of blue lace.</p> - -<p>Their passage had broken for a day the continence which the sailors -preserved. And then the island, barely seen, had vanished with its white -beach and its green palms, a very little thing amid the immense desert -of the waters, and we thought of it no more.</p> - -<p>But there was no boredom on board. The days were quite adequately filled -with duties and amusements.</p> - -<p>At certain hours, on certain days fixed in advance, the sailors were -allowed to open the canvas sacks in which their treasures were stored -(it was known as "getting out the sacks"). Then they spread out all -their little belongings, which had been folded inside with a comical -care, and the deck of the <i>Primauguet</i> took on all at once the -appearance of a bazaar. They opened their needle-work boxes, and sewed -little patches very neatly on holes in their clothes, which the -continual play of strong muscles soon wore out. There were some of them -who stripped to the skin and sat gravely mending their shirts; others, -who pressed their big collars in a rather extraordinary way (by sitting -on them for a long time); others who took from their writing cases poor -little faded yellow papers, bearing the postmarks of remote little -corners of Brittany or of the Basque country, and settled down to read: -they were letters from mothers, sisters, sweethearts, who dwelt in -villages at the other side of the earth.</p> - -<p>And, later on, at the sound of a particular whistle, which signified: -"Pack up the sacks!" all this disappeared as by enchantment, folded, -packed and re-consigned once more to the bottom of the hold, in the -numbered lockers which the terrible sergeants-at-arms came and locked -with little iron chains.</p> - -<p>Looking at them, one might have been deceived by their wise and patient -airs, if one had not known them better; seeing them so absorbed in these -occupations of little girls, in these unpackings of dolls, it was -impossible to imagine what these same young men might become capable of -once they were allowed on shore.</p> - -<p>There was only one hour of inevitable melancholy; it was when the -evening prayer had been said, when the Bretons had finished making the -sign of the cross and the sun had set: at that hour, assuredly, many of -them thought of home.</p> - -<p>Even in the regions of wonderful light, there is still that vague hour -between day and night, which brings always and everywhere a touch of -sadness; then one might see sailors' heads turned involuntarily in the -direction of that last band of light which persisted in the west, very -low, touching the line of the waters.</p> - -<p>A variegated band always; on the horizon there was first a dull red, -above, a little orange, above again, a little pale green, a trail of -phosphorescence, and then it merged with the dull greys above, with the -shades of darkness and obscurity. Some last reflections of a mournful -yellow lingered on the sea, which glistened still here and there before -taking on the neutral colours of night; this last oblique glance of day, -cast on the deserted depths, had something a little sinister, and, in -spite of oneself, there came a sense of desolation in the immensity of -the waters. It was the hour of secret revolts and wringing of hearts. It -was the hour when the sailors had the vague notion that their life was -strange and against nature, when they thought of their sequestrated and -wasted youth. Some far-off image of a woman passed before their eyes, -wreathed in a languishing charm, in a delectable sweetness. Or perhaps -there came to them, with a sudden trouble of the senses, a dream of some -senseless orgy of lust and alcohol, in which they would seek -compensation and appeasement when next they were let loose on -shore. . . .</p> - -<p>But, afterwards, came night itself, warm, full of stars, and the -fleeting impression was forgotten; and the sailors gathered in the bow -of the ship and, sitting or lying there, began to sing.</p> - -<p>There were some among the topmen who knew long and very pleasing songs, -the choruses of which were readily learnt by heart. And in the sonorous -silence of the night the voices sounded fine and vibrant.</p> - -<p>There was, too, an old petty officer who never tired of telling to a -certain attentive little circle interminable stories; stories of -adventures which had really happened once upon a time to some handsome -topmen whom amorous princesses had carried away to their castles.</p> - -<p>And still the <i>Primauguet</i> sped on, tracing behind her, in the darkness, -a vague white trail which gradually disappeared like the trail of a -meteor. All night long she sped, without resting or sleeping; only, her -large wings lost at night their sea-gull whiteness and outlined then, in -fantastic shadow against the diffused light of the sky, the points and -scallops of a bat's wing.</p> - -<p>But speed on as she might, she was always in the middle of the same -great circle, which seemed eternally to reform, to widen and to follow -her.</p> - -<p>Sometimes this circle was dark and traced all round its clean-cut -inexorable line which stopped at the first stars in the sky. Sometimes -the immense contour was softened by mists which mingled sea and sky -together; and then it seemed as if we were sailing in a kind of -grey-blue globe, spangled with stars, and the wonder was that we never -encountered its fugitive walls.</p> - -<p>The expanse was full of the soft sounds of water; it rustled -continuously and to infinity, but in a restrained and almost silent -manner; it gave out a powerful, unseizable sound, such as might be made -by an orchestra of thousands of strings touched by bows very, very -lightly and with great mystery.</p> - -<p>At times, the southern stars shone out with surprising brilliancy; the -great nebulæ sparkled like a dust of mother-of-pearl, all the colours -of the night seemed to be illumined, in transparency, by strange lights. -One might have imagined oneself, at these moments, in a fairyland where -everything was lit up for some immense apotheosis; and one asked -oneself: "What is the meaning of all this splendour, what is going to -happen, what is the matter?" . . . But no, there was nothing, ever; it -was simply the region of the tropics and this was its way. There was -nothing but the deserted seas, and everlastingly the circular expanse, -absolutely empty. . . .</p> - -<p>These nights were indeed exquisite summer nights, mild, infinitely mild, -milder than the mildest of our nights of June. And they troubled a -little all these men, the eldest of whom was not yet thirty years of -age.</p> - -<p>The warm darkness brought thoughts of love which were not of their -seeking. There were moments when they came near to weakening again in a -troubling dream; they felt the need of opening their arms to some -desired human form, of clasping it with a strong and forceful infinite -tenderness. But no, no one, nothing. . . . It was necessary to pull -themselves together, to remain alone, to turn over on the hard planks of -the wooden deck, and to think of something else, to begin to sing again. -. . . And then the songs, merry or sad, rang out more strongly than -before, in the emptiness of the sea.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless it was very pleasant on this forecastle during these -evenings at sea. The fresh wind of the night blew in our faces, the -virgin breezes which had never passed over land, which bore no living -effluvium, which were without odour. Lying there, one lost little by -little all notion of time and place, all notion of everything but speed, -which is always a pleasing thing, even when you are without a goal and -know not whither you are going.</p> - -<p>They had no goal, these sailors, and they knew not whither they were -going. What did it matter anyhow since nowhere were they allowed to set -foot on shore? They were ignorant of the direction of this rapid course -and of the infinite extent of the solitudes in which they were; but it -amused them, nevertheless, to be going full speed ahead in the bluish -darkness, to feel that they were moving very rapidly. As they sang their -evening songs, their eyes were on the bowsprit, ever thrusting forward, -with its two little horns and shape of drawn cross bow, which leapt over -the sea, skimming the noisy waters in the lightsome fashion of a flying -fish.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XCIII">CHAPTER XCIII</a></h4> - - -<p>On the <i>Primauguet</i>, my dear Yves was above reproach, as he had promised -us. The officers treated him with a rather special consideration on -account of his general bearing and manner which were no longer those of -the others. But he remained, nevertheless, in the first rank of that -hardy band of which the chief boatswain said with pride:</p> - -<p>"It is half shark; it knows no fear."</p> - -<p>He had resumed his old-time habit of coming, silent-footed, to my room -in the evening, in the hours when I abandoned it to him. He would settle -down to read my letters and my papers, knowing well that he was at -liberty to look at them all; he learnt to understand the marine charts, -and amused himself by marking points on them and measuring distances. -Very often he used to write to his wife, and it happened that his little -letters, interrupted by a call aloft, remained mixed with my papers. I -found one one day which was intended no doubt to be placed in a second -envelope and on which he had put this quaint address:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"To Madame Marie Kermadec, c/o her parents, at Trémeulé in Toulven, -Country of Brittany, Commune of Wolves, Parish of Squirrels, on the -right, under the largest oak."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>It was hard to imagine my great big Yves writing these childish things.</p> - -<p>This was his first long absence since his marriage. Half a world away, -he fell to thinking much of his young wife who already had suffered so -sorely on his account and who had loved him so well; she appeared to him -now, at this great distance, under a new aspect.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XCIV">CHAPTER XCIV</a></h4> - - -<p>In July—the worst month of the southern winter—we left the region of -the trade winds and made our way to Valparaiso.</p> - -<p>There, I was due to leave the <i>Primauguet</i> and to embark on a large -sailing ship which was returning to Brest after a tour round the world.</p> - -<p>It was called the <i>Navarin</i>; all the men of our ship who had finished -their term of service were embarking on it also: among others, Barrada, -who was going to Bordeaux, with his belt lined with gold, to marry his -little Spanish sweetheart.</p> - -<p>Very abruptly, as always, I said good-bye to Yves, recommending him once -more to all, and left for France by way of Cape Horn.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XCV">CHAPTER XCV</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">20<i>th October</i>, 1882.</p> - - -<p>I remember very well this day passed in Brittany. We three, under the -grey sky, roaming the woods of Toulven, Marie, Anne and I.</p> - -<p>My eyes still dazzled by sun and blue sea, and this Brittany, seen again -so quickly and so suddenly for a few brief hours, absolutely as in the -dreams we had of it at sea. . . . It seemed to me that I understood its -charm for the first time.</p> - -<p>And Yves was at the other side of the world, in the great ocean. How -strange it was to feel that he was so far away and that I was here -without him in these Toulven lanes!</p> - -<p>We rushed about, all three, like people possessed, in the green lanes, -under the grey sky, the large coifs of Marie and Anne blown back by the -wind. For night was closing in and we wanted during this last hour to -gather the harvest of ferns and heather, which, on the following -morning, I was going to carry off to Paris. Oh! these departures, always -coming too soon, changing everything, casting a sadness over the things -you are about to leave, and plunging you afterwards into the unknown!</p> - -<p>This time again, there was the pervading melancholy of the late autumn: -the air was still mild, the verdure admirable, with almost the intense -green of the tropics, but the Breton sky was there, grey and sombre, and -already the savour of dead leaves and of winter. . . .</p> - -<p>We had left little Pierre in the house so that we might walk more -quickly. On our way we picked the last foxgloves, the last red silenes, -the last scabious.</p> - -<p>In the sunken lanes, in the green darkness, we passed long-haired old -men, and women in cloth bodices embroidered with rows of eyes.</p> - -<p>There were mysterious crossways in the woods. In the distance one could -see the wooded hills ranged in monotonous lines, the unchanging ageless -horizon of the country of Toulven, the same horizon as the Celts must -have seen, the farthest planes losing themselves in the grey -obscurities, in bluish tones tending to black.</p> - -<p>And with what pleasure I had greeted my little Pierre, as I came along -this road of Toulven! I had seen the little fellow in the distance and -failed to recognize him; and he had run to meet me, skipping like a -young goat. They had told him: "That is your godfather coming yonder," -and he had rushed off at once. He had grown and improved in looks and -had a more enterprising not to say boisterous air.</p> - -<p>It was at this visit I saw for the first and last time little Yvonne, -Yves' little daughter who was born after our departure, and who made on -this earth only a brief appearance of a few months. She was very like -him; the same eyes, the same expression. It was strange to see this -resemblance of a small girl-baby to a man.</p> - -<p>One day she returned to the mysterious regions whence she had come, -called away suddenly by a childish malady, which neither the old nurse -nor the learned woman brought in from Toulven had understood. And they -laid her in the churchyard, the eyes that were so like Yves' closed for -ever.</p> - -<p>We had spent in the woods our two hours of daylight. It was not until -after supper that Marie and I went to see, in the moonlight, what was to -be their new home.</p> - -<p>On the site of the oat field which we had measured in June of the -preceding year stood now the four walls of Yves' house; it had yet no -shutters, no floor, no roof, and, in the moonlight, looked like a ruin.</p> - -<p>We sat down on some stones inside, alone together for the first -time.</p> - -<p>It was of Yves we talked, needless to say. She asked me anxiously about -him, about his future, imagining that I knew better than she this -husband whom she adored with a kind of fear, without understanding him. -And I reassured her, for I was very hopeful: the sea-rover had a good -and honest heart; and if we could touch him there, we ought in the end -to succeed.</p> - -<p>Anne appeared suddenly, having approached noiselessly in order to -startle us:</p> - -<p>"Oh, Marie!" she said, "move away quickly! See what an ugly shadow you -are making behind you!"</p> - -<p>We had not noticed it, but in the moonlight her head, with the wings of -her coif moving in the wind, cast behind her, on the new wall, a shadow -in the form of a very large and very ugly bat. It was enough to bring us -misfortune.</p> - -<p>In Toulven there was a music of bagpipes. To reach the inn, to which -they were both escorting me, we had to pass through an unexpected fête, -going on in the moonlight. It was the wedding of a well-to-do couple and -there was dancing in the open, on the square. I stopped, with Anne and -Marie, to watch the long chain of the gavotte whirl and pass, led by the -shrill voice of the pipes. The full moon made whiter the coifs of the -women which flitted past us as if carried away by wind and speed; on the -breasts of the men we caught the fleeting glitter of embroidered gorgets -and silver spangles.</p> - -<p>At the farther end of Toulven we came upon another concourse. It did not -seem natural, this animation in the village, at night; more coifs again, -hurrying, pressing forward in order to get a better view; for a band of -pilgrims was returning from Lourdes. They entered the village singing -hymns.</p> - -<p>"There have been two miracles, sir; we heard so this morning by -telegraph."</p> - -<p>I turned round and saw that it was Pierre Kerbras, Anne's sweetheart, -who vouchsafed us this information.</p> - -<p>The pilgrims passed, their large rosaries about their necks; behind came -two infirm old women, who, for their part, had not been cured, and who -were being carried in men's arms.</p> - -<p>The following morning old Corentin, Anne and little Pierre, in their -Sunday clothes, accompanied me in Pierre Kerbras' wagonette to the -station at Bannalec.</p> - -<p>In the compartment I entered two English women were already -installed.</p> - -<p>Little Pierre, his happy face the colour of a ripe peach, was lifted up -to the carriage window to kiss me good-bye, and he burst out laughing at -the sight of a little bulldog which the women carried in their blazoned -travelling-bag. He was sorry enough that I was going away; but this -little dog in the bag seemed to him so comical that he could not get -over it. And the old ladies smiled also, and said that little Pierre was -"a very beautiful baby."</p> - -<p>And this was the last of Brittany for a long time; I had spent some -twenty hours there, and, on the following morning, it was already far -away from me.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XCVI">CHAPTER XCVI</a></h4> - - -<p class="center"><i>A Letter from Yves</i></p> - - -<blockquote> -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">"MELBOURNE, <i>September</i>, 1882.</p> - - -<p>"DEAR BROTHER,—I write to let you know we have reached Australia; we -have had a very fine voyage and to-morrow we are to leave for Japan; -for, you know, we have had instructions to pay a visit to that country.</p> - -<p>"I found here two letters from you and two also from my wife; but I am -looking forward to the one you will write me when you have been to -Toulven.</p> - -<p>"Dear brother, your successor on board is just like you; he is very -considerate with the sailors. As regards Mr. Plunkett's successor, he is -rather severe, but not with me; on the contrary. Mr. Plunkett told me he -would recommend me to him when he left and I think he must have done so. -The others and the second-in-command are still the same; they often -speak to me of you and ask me for news of you.</p> - -<p>"The captain has called upon me to act as boatswain since we buried poor -Marsano, of Nice, who was found dead one morning in his hammock at the -réveillé. And I like the work very much.</p> - -<p>"Dear brother, the men have twice been allowed to go ashore, at San -Francisco, and you will be glad to know that, with you away, I have not -even given in my name to go with them. As a matter of fact, on the -second night, the topmen had a great row with some Germans, and knives -were used.</p> - -<p>"I have also to tell you, dear brother, that your name has not yet been -removed from above the door of your room, and I think it must have been -quite forgotten. And in the evening I make my way along the spar-deck -for the pleasure of seeing it.</p> - -<p>"Next year, when we return, I hope I may have a long leave to go and see -my wife and my little Pierre and my little daughter; but it will be all -too short in any case, and I shall never have any real leisure until I -get my pension. On the other hand, when I am old enough to put aside the -blue collar, my little Pierre will be thinking of going to sea himself -in his turn; or perhaps there will be a place for me a little farther -away, in the direction of the pond, near the church; you know what place -I mean.</p> - -<p>"Dear brother, you think I am taking my note from you? But no, I think -as I have always thought.</p> - -<p>"As for the 'coco-nut heads'<a name="FNanchor_6_1" id="FNanchor_6_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_1" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> I fear I must give up all idea of them, -for we shall not touch Caledonia; but perhaps, later on, I may be able -to return and buy some. If you should pass by the Gulf of Juan, you -would give me great pleasure if you would go to Vallauris and obtain for -me two of those candlesticks which they make there, and which have owls' -heads on them (the <i>parrots of France</i>, you know). I should like very -much to have some in my home. I am very eager, brother, to furnish my -little house.</p> - -<p>"Among the many things which make me sad when I awaken in the morning, -that which grieves me most is the thought that my mother cannot be -persuaded to come and live at Toulven. It seems to me that if I could -get leave and go to see her, I should certainly be able to induce her to -come. But, against this, I should then have no one belonging to me at -Plouherzel; and that again is a thing I cannot bear to contemplate; for -after all Plouherzel is our home, you know. If I could believe what you -have often told me on the subject of a life after death, then, -assuredly, I could still be contented enough. But it seems to me that -you yourself do not believe very much in it. Funnily enough, though, I -am afraid of ghosts, and I rather think, brother, that you are afraid of -them, too.</p> - -<p>"I ask you to forgive these dirty sheets I am sending you, but it is not -altogether my fault that they are in this condition. As you know I no -longer have your desk now to write my letters on like an officer. I was -writing to you peacefully enough at the end of my night watch on the -lockers in the bow, when the idiot Le Hir came and knocked over my -candle. I have not time to copy out my letter neatly as sometimes I do, -in the way you have praised. I am writing hurriedly and I ask you to -forgive the hasty scrawl.</p> - -<p>"We are leaving at daybreak to-morrow for Japan; but I will send my -letter by the pilot who is coming to take us out.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 55%;">"Your affectionate brother,</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">"YVES KERMADEC.</p> - -<p>"Dear brother, I cannot tell you how much I love you."</p></blockquote> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_1" id="Footnote_6_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_1"><span class="label">[6]</span></a>Very ugly human heads made by the convicts in Caledonia out -of coco-nuts, in which they fix eyes and teeth and hair. Yves wanted -them for his staircase at Toulven.</p></div> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XCVII">CHAPTER XCVII</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;"><i>December</i>, 1882.</p> - - -<p>I was walking on the quay at Bordeaux. A very smart person came up to -me, hat doffed, holding out his hand: Barrada! A Barrada transformed, -having shed his beard and his one-and-thirty years at the same time, no -doubt, as he laid aside his blue collar, with cheeks carefully shaved, a -budding moustache, and the air of a young lover of twenty.</p> - -<p>The old distinction and beauty of line were still there, but his face -now was happier and kinder, as if brightened by a deep joy.</p> - -<p>He had married at last his little Spanish sweetheart. The gold he used -to carry in his belt had furnished their home; and he had found -occupation as a stevedore, a very lucrative calling, it seems, in which -he could use to perfection his great strength and instinctive -"handiness." He made me promise solemnly that on the return of the -<i>Primauguet</i> I would call at Bordeaux with Yves and come and see -him.</p> - -<p>He, at any rate, was happy!</p> - -<p>And the end of this wanderer over the sea made me think. I asked myself -whether my poor Yves, who, with a heart as good, had offended far less -against the laws of decent society, might not also find one day a little -happiness. . . .</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XCVIII">CHAPTER XCVIII</a></h4> - - -<blockquote> -<p><i>Telegram</i>: "Toulon, 3rd April, 1883.—To Yves Kermadec, on board the -<i>Primauguet</i>, Brest. You have been appointed mate. All good wishes.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">"PIERRE."</p></blockquote> - - -<p>It was his joyous welcome, his home-coming feast, for, only twenty-four -hours before, the <i>Primauguet</i>, returned from its distant cruise in the -Pacific, had come to anchor in the waters of France.</p> - -<p>And these golden stripes which I sent to Yves by telegraph, he did not -water them, as he had watered formerly his stripes of wool. No, times -had changed; he took refuge in the spar-deck, in the corner where his -sack and locker were, which he regarded as his little home; he hurried -down to this quiet spot in order that he might be alone to contemplate -this happiness which had come to him, to read and read again this -blessed little blue paper which had opened before him an entirely new -era.</p> - -<p>It was so wonderful, so unexpected, after his past bad conduct!</p> - -<p>I had been to Paris to ask this favour, intriguing hard for my adopted -brother, and making myself answerable for his future conduct. A woman -friend had been good enough to exert in my cause her very powerful -influence, and, with her help, the promotion of Yves was carried by -assault, difficult though it was.</p> - -<p>And Yves could not cease from contemplating his good fortune in all its -aspects. . . . First, instead of asking for a short leave which might -perhaps have been given to him very grudgingly, now, with his gold -stripes he could depart straightway for Toulven; he would be put on the -reserve list for three months at least, perhaps for four; he would have -the whole summer to spend with his wife and son, in the little house -which was now completed, and where they were only waiting for him to -enter into occupation. . . . And secondly, they were quite rich, which -was by no means a drawback. . . .</p> - -<p>Never in the life of this poor wandering toiler had there come an hour -so happy, a joy so deep as that which his brother Pierre had just sent -him by telegraph. . . .</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XCIX">CHAPTER XCIX</a></h4> - - -<p>When the winds brought me back to Brittany again, it was in the last -days of May, when the Breton spring was at its fairest.</p> - -<p>Yves had already been six weeks in his little house at Toulven, -arranging my room, and preparing everything for my arrival.</p> - -<p>The ship on which I had embarked had left the Mediterranean and was -going north in the Atlantic, bound for the northern ports and Brest -where it was to be laid up.</p> - -<p>18<i>th May, at sea.</i> Already one feels that Brittany is near. It is fine -still, but the day is one of those fine Breton days which are calm and -melancholy. The smooth sea is of a pale blue, the salt air is fresh and -smells of seaweed; over everything there is a veil of bluish mist, very -transparent and very tenuous.</p> - -<p>At eight o'clock in the morning we round the point of Penmarc'h. The -Celtic rocks, the tall sad cliffs become visible little by little and -draw nearer.</p> - -<p>Now there are real banks of mist—but very light still, summer -mists—which rest everywhere on the distances of the horizon.</p> - -<p>At one o'clock, the channel of the Toulinguets, and then we enter -Brest.</p> - -<p>19<i>th May.</i> Eight days' leave. At midday I am in the train, on my way to -Toulven.</p> - -<p>Rain all the way over the Breton countryside. The meadows, the shady -valleys are full of water.</p> - -<p>From Bannalec to Toulven is an hour's drive through the woods. With my -eyes fixed in front of me I watch for the granite steeple of the church -in the distance of the green horizon.</p> - -<p>And now it appears reflected deep below in the mournful pool. The -weather has cleared and the sky is blue again, a pale blue.</p> - -<p>Toulven! . . . The diligence stops. Yves is there waiting for me, -holding little Pierre by the hand.</p> - -<p>We look at each other—and our first impulse is to laugh, on account of -our moustaches. Our faces are altered, and we seem odd to each other. We -had not seen each other since permission had been given to sailors to -leave the upper lip unshaved. Yves expressed the opinion that it made us -look much more knowing.</p> - -<p>Then we shook hands.</p> - -<p>And what a fine little fellow Pierre has become! So tall, so strong! We -set off together, going through Toulven, where the good folk know me and -come to their doors to watch us pass. We make our way through the narrow -grey street, between the ancient houses, between the walls of massive -granite. I recognize the old woman with the owl-like profile who -presided at the birth of my godson; she nods to me from an open window. -The large coifs, the collarettes, the spangles on the bodices, stand -out, in the deep embrasures against the dark backgrounds, and the -impression I receive as I pass by is one peculiar to Brittany, of olden -times, of days remote and dead.</p> - -<p>Little Pierre, whose hands we hold, walks now like a man. He had said -nothing at first, a little overcome at seeing me again, but presently he -begins to talk; upturning towards me his round face he looks at me as at -a friend with whom he may share his thoughts, and a sweet small voice -with which I am not yet very familiar pipes out with a strong Breton -accent:</p> - -<p>"Godfather, have you brought me my sheep?"</p> - -<p>Fortunately I had remembered my promise of a year ago; this sheep on -wheels for little Pierre is in my trunk. And I have brought also some -candlesticks with owls' heads on them (heads of the <i>parrots of France</i>) -which I had promised to my other baby—Yves.</p> - -<p>And here is the house, gay and white and new, with its Breton window -frames, its green shutters, its attic store-room, and, behind, the -horizon of the woods.</p> - -<p>We enter. Below in the open-hearthed kitchen, Marie and little Corentine -are waiting for us.</p> - -<p>But, immediately, Yves hurries me away, impatient that I should see -their handsome white room upstairs, with its muslin curtains and its -cherry wood furniture.</p> - -<p>And then he opens another door.</p> - -<p>"And now, brother, you are in your own room?"</p> - -<p>And he looks at me, anxious to see the effect produced, after all the -pains his wife and he have taken to ensure that I should find everything -to my taste.</p> - -<p>I enter, touched, moved. It is all white, my room, and filled with a -delicious fragrance. There are flowers everywhere, flowers which they -have gone very far to find for me; in vases on the mantelpiece, bunches -of mignonette and large bouquets of sweetpeas; in the fireplace, a mass -of heather.</p> - -<p>But they could not bring themselves to put in my room the old furniture, -the old Breton odds and ends, and they excused themselves saying they -had found nothing that seemed to them nice enough and suitable enough; -and so they had gone to Quimper and bought me a bed like their own, in -cherry wood, a light wood, bright and slightly reddish in colour. The -tables and chairs are of the same wood. The smallest details have been -arranged with tender thought; on the walls, in gilt frames, are drawings -which I had made in earlier days and a large photograph of the tower of -Saint Pol-de-Léon, which I had given Yves at the time when we were -together in the misty waters of the North.</p> - -<p>The boards of the floor are as clean as newly-sawn wood.</p> - -<p>"You see, brother, everything is as spotless as on board," says Yves, -who himself has taken the greatest pains to make it so, and who removes -his shoes whenever he goes up so that he may not dirty the stairs.</p> - -<p>And I must see everything, go everywhere, even into the store-room where -the potatoes are laid by, and the logs of wood for the winter; even into -the little vestibule of the staircase where is suspended, like the -<i>ex-voto</i> of a sailor in a chapel of the Virgin, a miniature ship which -Yves had made during his spare time in the crow's nest of the -<i>Primauguet</i>; and finally into the garden where the strawberries and -various green things are beginning to push up their fresh shoots in long -neat rows.</p> - -<p>Now we sit down at the table, Yves, Marie, little Corentine, little -Pierre and I, round the spotless white cloth on which the dinner has -been placed. And Yves, my brother Yves, becomes self-conscious and -nervous all at once in his rôle of master of the house. And so it is I -who have to carve, and, as it is the first time in my life, I get a -little confused too.</p> - -<p>At this dinner, I eat to please them; but this great happiness which I -feel here near me and of which in some small measure I am the cause, -this deep gratitude which surrounds me, all this moves me very -strangely. To be in the midst of these rare things brings me the -surprise of a new, delightful experience.</p> - -<p>"You know," Yves says to me, low as if in confidence, "I go with her to -mass now every Sunday."</p> - -<p>And he makes in the direction of his wife a little grimace of childlike -submission, very comical to see in one so serious. But his manner with -Marie has quite changed, and I saw as soon as I entered that love had -come at last to make its home for good and all in the new house. And my -dear friends, therefore, have attained all that is best on earth. As -Yves said "All that was wanted now was that the pendulum of time should -stop so that this great happiness of their fulfilled dreams might never -leave them."</p> - -<p>They also are silent in their happiness, as if they feared they might -frighten it away if they spoke too loud or too lightheartedly about it.</p> - -<p>Besides we have to speak of the dead, of that little Yvonne who departed -last autumn without waiting for the return of the <i>Primauguet</i> and whom -Yves never saw; of old Corentin, her grandfather, who had found the cold -weather of December too much for him.</p> - -<p>It is Marie who speaks:</p> - -<p>"He became very difficult towards the end, he who had always been so -considerate. He said we did not know how to look after him, and he asked -continually for his son Yves: 'Oh! if Yves were here he would help me; -he would lift me in his strong arms and turn me over in my bed.' On the -last night he called him without ceasing."</p> - -<p>And Yves replied:</p> - -<p>"What grieves me most when I think of our father, is that we were a -little angry with each other on the day I went away, in connection with -the settlement, you know. You cannot believe how often the recollection -of that dispute with him comes into my mind."</p> - -<p>Dinner is finished. It is evening, the long mild evening of May. We are -walking, Yves and I, towards the church, to pay a visit to a white cross -which stands there on a little flower-decked mound:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p><i>Yvonne Kermadec, thirteen months.</i></p></blockquote> - - -<p>"They say that she was very like me," says Yves.</p> - -<p>And this resemblance of the dead infant to him makes him very -thoughtful.</p> - -<p>As we look at the cross, the mound and the flowers, we both think of -this mystery: a little baby girl who was of his blood, his issue, who -had his eyes, and . . . probably, too, his nature, and who was given -back so soon to the Breton earth. It is as if something of himself had -already gone from him to mingle with the dust; it was like an -earnest-money which he had already given to eternal nothingness. . . .</p> - -<p>In four years, this little cross which may be seen now from the -distance, will exist no longer; Yvonne and her mound and her flowers -will be swept away. Even her little bones will be gathered up and mixed -with the others, the bones of those long dead, under the church, in the -ossuary.</p> - -<p>For four years still the cross will remain, and those who pass may read -this name of a little child. . . .</p> - -<p>It stands on the edge of the pond. It is reflected in the deep, stagnant -water, by the side of the tall grey steeple. On the mound the blooming -carnations make white tufts, already indistinct in the oncoming -darkness. The pond is like a mirror, pale yellow, of the colour of the -dying daylight, of the sunset sky; and, all round, is the line, already -dark, of the woods.</p> - -<p>The flowers of the tombs give out their soft perfumes of the evening. A -mild stillness surrounds us and seems to close in upon us. . . .</p> - -<p>In the distance we hear the hooting of the owls, and we cannot -distinguish now little Yvonne's white carnations. . . . The summer night -has come.</p> - -<p>Suddenly a loud noise startles us, amid this silence in which we were -thinking of the dead. It is the Angelus sounding, very close, above us, -in the steeple; and the air is filled with the deep vibrations of the -bell.</p> - -<p>Yet we had seen no one enter the church which is shut and dark.</p> - -<p>"Who is ringing?" asks Yves anxiously. "Who can be ringing? I would not -do it, ever. . . . I would not enter the church at this hour, not even -for all the gold in the world!"</p> - -<p>. . . We leave the cemetery; there is too much noise and the Angelus -sounds strange there; it awakens unexpected echoes, in the waters of the -pond, in the enclosure of the dead, in the darkness. Not that we are -afraid of the poor little tomb with the white carnations; but there are -the others, these mounds of turf which are all about us, these graves of -men and women unknown. . . .</p> - -<p><i>Ten o'clock.</i> I am going to sleep for the first time under the roof of -my brother Yves.</p> - -<p><i>Later.</i> We have already said good night, but he returns and opens my -door.</p> - -<p>"The flowers. They may not be good for you; it has just occurred to -us. . . ."</p> - -<p>And he takes them all away, the mignonette, the sweetpeas, even the -bunches of heather.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_C">CHAPTER C</a></h4> - - -<p>The "pendulum of time" has continued its swing. It even seems that it -has moved more quickly than usual, for the week's leave which had been -given me is almost over.</p> - -<p>Every day we spend in the woods. The weather is splendid. The heather, -the foxgloves, the red silenes, all are in flower.</p> - -<p>There had been a great "pardon" on Sunday, one of the most famous of -this region of Brittany: it was held near the chapel of <i>Our Lady of -Good Tidings</i>—which stands alone in the heart of the woods as if -it had been sleeping there, forgotten, since the middle ages.</p> - -<p>It happened that the day before, the Saturday, we had sat down in the -shade, Yves, little Pierre and I, near the church, in the hour of the -great calm of noon. A very silent spot, above which the ancient oaks and -beeches linked, as if they had been arms, their great moss-grown -branches.</p> - -<p>Two women had come, one young, the other old and decrepit; they wore the -costume of Rosporden and seemed to have travelled far. They carried -large keys.</p> - -<p>And they opened the old sanctuary, which remains closed throughout the -year, and began to prepare the altar for the feast of the following day.</p> - -<p>In the green half-light of the windows and the trees, we saw them -busying themselves about the statues of the old saints, dusting them, -wiping them; and then sweeping the flagstones covered with dust and -saltpetre.</p> - -<p>At the foot of Our Lady someone, out of piety, had placed a skull, -found, no doubt, in the earth of the wood. Greenish-looking, the cranium -staved in, it gazed at us from the bottom of the chapel, with its two -black eye sockets.</p> - -<p>"Tell me, godfather, what is that? . . . Did someone find that face in -the earth? . . ."</p> - -<p>Little Pierre is vaguely disturbed by this thing, the like of which he -had never seen; as if it was for him the first revelation of an order of -sinister objects dwelling under the earth. . . .</p> - -<p>The weather, for this day of pardon, was a little dull, but delightful -nevertheless.</p> - -<p>For ten hours, the bagpipes played in front of the chapel, under the -great oaks, and gavottes were danced on the mossy turf.</p> - -<p>That indescribable quality of Breton summers, which is somehow -melancholy, is, if one may so express it, a compound of many things: the -charm of the long, warm days, rarer here than elsewhere and sooner over; -the tall-growing herbage fresh and green, with the extreme profusion of -red flowers; and then the sentiment of olden times, which seems to -slumber here, to permeate everything.</p> - -<p>Old land of Toulven, great woods where the black fir trees, trees of the -north, mingle already with the oaks and beeches; Breton countrysides, -which seem to be wrapt still in the past. . . .</p> - -<p>Great rocks covered with grey lichen, as fine as an old man's beard; -plains in which the granite crops out of the ancient soil, plains of -purple heather. . . .</p> - -<p>They are impressions of tranquillity, of appeasement, which this country -brings me; and also an aspiration towards a more complete repose under -the mossy turf, at the foot of the chapels which are in the woods. And, -with Yves, all this is vaguer, more inexpressible, but more intense -also, as with me when I was a child.</p> - -<p>To see us sitting together in the woods in the calm of these fine summer -days, one would never imagine what our youth had been, what life we had -lived, nor what terrible scenes there had been between us formerly, when -first our two natures, very different and very alike, had come in -conflict one with the other.</p> - -<p>Every evening before we go to bed, we play with little Pierre a Toulven -game, amusing enough, which consists in holding one another by the chin -and reciting, without laughing, a long rigmarole: "By the beard of -Minette I hold you. The first of us two who shall laugh . . . etc." At -this game little Pierre is always caught.</p> - -<p>After that come the gymnastics. Yves goes through the performance with -his son, turning him over, making him "go about," head down, legs in the -air, at arm's length, then raising him very high. "Tell me, little -Pierre, when will you have arms like mine? Tell me! Oh, never; never -arms like yours, father; I shall not suffer hardship enough for that, I -am sure."</p> - -<p>And when Yves, dishevelled, tired from having romped so much, says, as -he readjusts his clothes, in his most serious way: "Now then, little -Pierre has finished his gymnastics for the present," little Pierre comes -to me with that smile which always gets for him what he wants: "It is -your turn, godfather; come!" And the gymnastics begin again.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_CI">CHAPTER CI</a></h4> - - -<p>The pendulum of time, inexorable, swings on. In a few hours I shall have -to leave, and soon my brother Yves will depart also, both of us for -distant parts, for the unknown.</p> - -<p>It is the last day, the last evening. Yves, little Pierre and I are on -our way to the cottage of the old Keremenens, where I am to say good-bye -to grandmother Marianne.</p> - -<p>She lives alone, now, under her moss-grown roof, under the spreading -vault of the great oaks. Pierre Kerbras and Anne, who were married in -the spring, are building in the village a proper house in granite, like -that of Yves. All the children have departed.</p> - -<p>Poor little cottage in which the white coifs and collarettes moved about -so joyously on the day of the baptism! All that is over; now, the -cottage is empty and silent. We sit down on the old oak benches, resting -our elbows on the table on which the great baptismal feast was served. -The old grandmother is on a stool, spinning at her distaff, her head -bowed, looking already decrepit and forlorn.</p> - -<p>Although the sun is not yet very low, inside the cottage it is dark.</p> - -<p>Around us, none but old-fashioned things, poor and primitive. Large -rosaries are hung on the rough granite of the walls; in corners, lost in -shadow, one sees the oak logs amassed for the winter, and old household -utensils, blackened and dusty, in ancient and simple forms.</p> - -<p>Never had we realized so clearly that all this is of the past and far -from us.</p> - -<p>It is the old Brittany of an earlier time, almost dead.</p> - -<p>Through the chimney filters the light of the sky, green tones fall from -above on the stones of the hearth, and through the open door appears the -Breton lane, with a ray of the setting sun on the honeysuckle and the -ferns.</p> - -<p>We become dreamers, Yves and I, on this visit we have come to pay to the -dwelling of the grandparents.</p> - -<p>Besides, grandmother Marianne speaks only Breton. From time to time Yves -addresses her in this language of the past; she replies, smiles, seems -pleased to see us; but the conversation quickly flags and silence -returns.</p> - -<p>Vague melancholy of the evening, dreams of far-off days in this old -dwelling which soon will collapse by the roadside, which will fall into -ruin like its old inmates, and which no one will ever rebuild.</p> - -<p>Little Pierre is with us. He is very fond of this little cottage and of -this old grandmother, who spoils him with adoration. He loves especially -the little oaken cradle, a work of another century, in which he was put -when he was born. He is longer than his cradle now and uses it, sitting -within, as a see-saw, looking about him with his wide-open dark eyes. -And now his grandmother, stooping near him, her back bent under her -frilled collarette, begins to rock him herself to amuse him. And as she -rocks she sings, and he, every now and then, interrupts the quavering -notes with a burst of his child's laughter.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">Boudoul galaïchen! boudoul galaïch du!</span></p> - - -<p>Sing, poor old woman, with your broken, trembling voice, sing the -ancient lullaby, the air which comes from the distant night of dead -generations, and which your grandchildren will no longer know!</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">Boudoul, boudoul! Galaïchen, galaïch du!</span></p> - - -<p>One expects to see gnomes and fairies descend by the wide chimney, with -the light that comes from above.</p> - -<p>Outside, the sun gilds stills the branches of the oaks, the honeysuckle -and the ferns.</p> - -<p>Inside, in the lonely cottage, all is mysterious and dark.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">Boudoul, boudoul! Galaïchen, galaïch du!</span></p> - - -<p>Rock your little grandson, rock him still, old woman in white frilled -collar! Soon the Breton songs, and the old Bretons who sing them, will -be no more!</p> - -<p>And little Pierre joins his hands to say his evening prayer.</p> - -<p>Word for word, in a very sweet voice which has a strong Toulven accent, -he repeats, watching us the while, all that his grandmother knows of -French:</p> - -<p>"Oh God, and blessed Virgin Mary, and good Saint Anne, I pray to you for -my father, for my mother, for my godfather, for my grandparents, for my -little sister Yvonne. . . ."</p> - -<p>"For my Uncle Goulven who is far away at sea," adds Yves in a grave -voice.</p> - -<p>And still more solemnly:</p> - -<p>"For my grandmother at Plouherzel."</p> - -<p>"For my grandmother at Plouherzel," repeats little Pierre.</p> - -<p>And then he waits for something more to repeat, keeping his hands -joined.</p> - -<p>But Yves is almost in tears at the poignant recollection which has -suddenly come to him of his mother, of the cottage in which he was born, -of his village of Plouherzel, which his son scarcely knows and which he -himself will perhaps never see again. Life is like that for the children -of the coast, for sailors; they go away, the exigencies of their calling -separate them from beloved parents who scarcely know how to write to -them and whom afterwards they never see.</p> - -<p>I look at Yves, and, as we understand each other without speaking, I can -imagine very well what is passing in his mind.</p> - -<p>To-day he is happy beyond his dream, many sombre things have been -distanced and conquered, and yet, and yet . . . and afterwards? Here he -is now plunged suddenly into I know not what dream of past and future, -into a strange and unexpected melancholy! And afterwards?</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">Boudoul galaïchen! boudoul galaïch du!</span></p> - - -<p>sings the old woman, her back bent under her white frilled collar.</p> - -<p>And afterwards? . . . Only little Pierre is inclined to laugh. He turns -from one side to the other his vivacious head, bronzed and vigorous; -merriment, the flame of a life quite new are still in his large dark -eyes.</p> - -<p>And afterwards? . . . All is dark in the abandoned cottage; it seems as -if the objects there are talking mysteriously among themselves of the -past; night is closing in around us on the great woods.</p> - -<p>And afterwards? . . . Little Pierre will grow up and sail the seas, and -we, my brother, we shall pass away and all that we have loved with -us—our old mothers first—then everything and we ourselves, the old -mothers of the Breton cottages as those of the towns, and old Brittany -also, and everything, all the things of this world!</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">Boudoul galaïchen! boudoul galaïch du!</span></p> - - -<p>Night falls and a sadness unexpected, profound, weighs upon our hearts. -. . . And yet, to-day we are happy.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_CII">CHAPTER CII</a></h4> - - -<blockquote> -<p>And the Celts mourned three barren rocks, under a lowering sky, in the -heart of a gulf dotted with islets.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, SALAMMBÔ.</p></blockquote> - - -<p>Yves and I take our departure, leaving little Pierre with his -grandmother. We follow the green lane, under the vault of oaks and -beeches, hearing in the distance, in the sonorousness of the evening, -the noise of the rocking of the ancient cradle and the old lullaby and -the outburst of child's laughter.</p> - -<p>Outside, there is still daylight; the sun, very low, gilds the tranquil -countryside.</p> - -<p>"Let us go as far as the chapel of Saint Eloi," says Yves.</p> - -<p>The chapel is on the top of the hill; very old it is, and corroded with -moss, bearded with lichen, alone always, closed and mysterious in the -midst of the woods.</p> - -<p>It opens but once in the year, for the "pardon" of the horses, which are -brought hither in great numbers, at the hour of a low mass which is said -here for them. This "pardon" was held quite recently and the grass is -still trodden down by the hoofs of the beasts which came.</p> - -<p>This evening there is a strange tranquillity round the chapel. The -wooded horizons, stretching out into the distance, are very peaceful, as -if they were about to fall asleep. It seems also that it might be the -evening of our own life, and that all that we had to do now was to rest -here for ever, watching the night descend on the Breton countrysides, to -let ourselves sink gently into this sleep of nature.</p> - -<p>"All the same," says Yves, very thoughtful, "I feel sure that it will be -to somewhere over there (<i>over there</i> means Plouherzel) that I shall -return when I get old, so that they may lay me near Kergrist Chapel; you -know, where I showed you? Yes, I am sure I shall find my way there to -die."</p> - -<p>Kergrist Chapel, in the district of Goëlo, under a lowering sky; the -sea-water lake, and, in the middle, the granite islets, the great -squatting beast asleep on the grey plain. . . . I can see the place now, -as it appeared to me, many years ago already, on a winter's day. And I -remember that there is Yves' native land, there is the earth which -awaits him. When he is far away at sea, at night, in hours of danger, -there is the grave of which he dreams.</p> - -<p>"Yves, my dear brother, we are two great children, I assure you. Often -very merry when there is no cause, here now we are sad and talking -nonsense at a moment when peace and happiness by rare good fortune have -come to us. I doubt very much if the newness of the experience is -sufficient excuse.</p> - -<p>"For who to look at us would imagine we were capable of dreaming these -foolish things in our waking hours, simply because the night is falling -and there is stillness in the woods?</p> - -<p>"Think of it! We are neither of us more than thirty-two years old. -Before us yet there should be many more years of life, years that will -be filled with travel, with danger, with suffering. To each of us will -come sunshine, and beauty, and love . . . and, perhaps, who -knows?—between us there may be again scenes, rebellions, struggles!"</p> - -<p>In many fewer words than there are above all this crossed his dream.</p> - -<p>And he answered me with an air of sad reproach:</p> - -<p>"But you know well, brother, that I am altered now, and that there is -<i>one thing</i> which is finished for ever. There is no need to speak to me of -that."</p> - -<p>And I grip the hand of my brother Yves trying to smile as one who had -completest confidence.</p> - -<p>The stories of real life ought to be able to be finished at will like -the stories in books. . . .</p> - - - - -<h4>THE END</h4> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Tale of Brittany, by Pierre Loti - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TALE OF BRITTANY *** - -***** This file should be named 62667-h.htm or 62667-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/6/6/62667/ - -Produced by Dagny and Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free -Literature (Images generously made available by Hathi -Trust.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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