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AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
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 in 2016 
 
 https://archive.org/details/icelandfisherman00loti_0 
 
AN ICELAND FISHERMAN 
 
 (p A che ur d’islande) 
 
 a Storg of QLove on QLanJ* an<> Sea 
 
 BY 
 
 PIERRE LOTI 
 
 AUTHOR OF “ MY BROTHER YVES,” “ THE SPAHl’s ROMANCE,” ETC. ETC. 
 
 'Sole anti specialty sancttoneu &op2ri0£t translation 
 By CLARA CADIOT 
 
 LONDON 
 
 JOHN AND ROBERT MAXWELL 
 MILTON HOUSE, ST. BRIDE STREET 
 
 AND 
 
 SHOE LANE, FLEET STREET, E.C. 
 
 [All Rights Reserved ] 
 
MS'VLS’ 
 
 Op E C-^ 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 
 
 & 
 
 Pierre Loti ranks to-day as one of the best writers 
 of French prose. Yet he is a comparatively new 
 author, and does not lay claim to any eminence as a 
 ^ litterateur — “ Loti ” being simply the nom de plume of 
 v an officer in the French navy, who has never studied 
 or written with a view to being published. And for 
 the very reason that he belongs to no school, and has 
 followed no master, he is one of France’s most sincere 
 naturalistes. All his stories are healthy paintings of 
 sailor life under various climes. Loti’s way of writing 
 is most simple. In his spare moments he notes his 
 impressions de voyage in his daily journal — from which 
 he has drawn all his books — without scarcely any 
 addition, so that all his narratives and descriptions 
 bear the undeniable stamp of truth, and all he relates 
 has actually taken place. “ Loti ” (Yiard) was born 
 at Eochefort in 1850. In 1867 he entered the naval 
 
 school at Brest, and in 1870, during the Franco- 
 
 b 
 
VI 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE . 
 
 German war, sailed in the Baltic and Northern Seas. 
 The years 1871-72 he spent in Tahiti, which period 
 of life gives us his exquisite idyll, “ Le Mariage de 
 Loti ,” in which he fully describes Tahitian life. 
 
 Next he travelled in Senegal and Guinea (1 87 3-’74), 
 where he knew Jean Peyral, the hero of “ Le Roman 
 d’un Spahi” in which book he faithfully describes 
 Senegal, that Hades of the French army. 
 
 His Turkish campaign (1876—77) gives us “ Azi- 
 yadt” which was his first published book. So great 
 was its success in 1880 that Loti set to work to write 
 his “Mariage d'e Loti ” from his Tahitian journal, and 
 since then his naval career may be followed up in his 
 works. 
 
 THE TRANSLATOR. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 part I. 
 
 ON THE ICY SEA. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. THE FISHERMEN 3 
 
 IT. ICELANDERS 1 6 
 
 III. THE WOMEN AT HOME . . , . . . -19 
 
 IV FIRST LOVE 33 
 
 V. THE SECOND MEETING 3^ 
 
 VI. NEWS FROM HOME 53 
 
 part M. 
 
 IN THE BRETON LAND. 
 
 I. THE PLAYTHING OF THE STORM 65 
 
 II. A PARDONABLE RUSE 74 
 
 III. OF SINISTER PORTENT 70 
 
 IV. HIS RELUCTANCE 89 
 
 V. SAILORS AT THE PLAY . . . . . . 9O 
 
 IV. ORDERED ON FOREIGN SERVICE 9 1 
 
 vii. moan’s sweetheart 92 
 
 VIII. OLD AND YOUNG 94 
 
 IX. THE EASTERN VOYAGE 98 
 
 X. THE ORIENT 102 
 
 XI. A CURIOUS RENCONTRE IO4 
 
 XII. STRIKING THE ROCK UNKNOWN 1 12 
 
 XIII. HOME NEWS Il6 
 
 part m. 
 
 IN THE SHADOW. 
 
 I. THE SKIRMISH . . . 1 23 
 
 II. “OUT, BRIEF CANDLE!” . . . . . . .128 
 
 III. THE GRAVE ABROAD 1 34 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 viii 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 IV. TO THE SURVIVORS, THE SPOILS 
 V. THE DEATH-BLOW 
 VI. A CHARITABLE ASSUMPTION 
 VII. THE COMFORTER . 
 
 VIII. THE BROTHER’S GRIEF 
 IX. WORK CURES SORROW. 
 
 X. THE WHITE FOG . 
 
 XI. THE SPECTRE SHIP 
 XII. THE STRANGE COUPLE. 
 
 XIII. RENEWED DISAPPOINTMENT 
 
 XIV. THE GRANDAM BREAKING UP 
 XV. THE NEW SHIP . 
 
 XVI. LONE AND LORN . 
 
 XVII. THE ESPOUSAL . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 . 136 
 
 • 139 
 
 • 145 
 
 . 146 
 
 . 148 
 
 . 150 
 
 . 156 
 
 159 
 
 1^5 
 
 173 
 
 175 
 
 181 
 
 186 
 
 190 
 
 part 5F. 
 
 YANN’S FIRST WEDDING. 
 
 I. THE COURTING BY THE SEA 
 
 II. THE SEAMAN’S SECRET 
 
 III. THE OMINOUS WEDDING-DRESS 
 
 IV. FLOWER OF THE THORN 
 
 V. THE COST OF OBSTINACY 
 
 VI. THE BRIDAL 
 
 VII. THE DISCORDANT NOTE 
 
 VIII. THE BLISSFUL WEEK . 
 
 199 
 
 202 
 
 203 
 
 204 
 
 206 
 
 210 
 
 214 
 
 226 
 
 part F. 
 
 THE SECOND WEDDING. 
 
 I. THE START 237 
 
 II. THE FIRST OF THE FLEET 244 
 
 III. ALL BUT TWO 247 
 
 IV. STILL AT SEA . 248 
 
 V. SHARING THE DREAD 249 
 
 VI. ALL BUT ONE 253 
 
 VII. THE MOURNER’S VISION 256 
 
 VIII. THE FALSE ALARM 2^9 
 
 IX. WEDDED TO THE SEA 265 
 
AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 ON THE ICY SEA. 
 
 A 
 

PART I. 
 
 ON THE ICY SEA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE FISHERMEN. 
 
 There they were, five huge, square-built seamen, drink- 
 ing away together in the dismal cabin, which reeked of 
 fish-pickle and bilge-water. The overhead beams came 
 down too low for their tall statures, and rounded off at 
 one end so as to resemble a gull’s breast, seen from 
 within. The whole rolled gently with a monotonous 
 wail, inclining one slowly to drowsiness. 
 
 Outside, beyond doubt, lay the sea and the night ; 
 but one could not be quite sure of that, for a single 
 opening in the deck was closed by its weather-hatch, 
 and the only light came from an old hanging lamp, 
 swinging to and fro. A fire shone in the stove, at 
 which their saturated clothes were drying, and giving 
 out steam, which mingled with the smoke from their 
 clay pipes. 
 
4 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 Their massive table occupied the whole space, fitting 
 exactly to its shape; and there was just enough room 
 for moving round and sitting upon the narrow lockers 
 fastened to the sides. Thick beams ran above them, 
 very nearly touching their heads, and behind them 
 yawned the berths, apparently hollowed out of the solid 
 timbers, like recesses of a vault wherein to place the 
 dead. All the wainscoting was rough and worn, 
 impregnated with damp and salt, defaced and polished 
 by the continual rubbings of their hands. 
 
 They had been drinking wine and cider, in their 
 pannikins, and the sheer enjoyment of life lit up their 
 frank honest faces. Now, they lingered at table 
 chatting, in Breton tongue, on women and marriage. 
 A china statuette of the Virgin Mary was fastened on 
 a bracket against the midship partition, in the place of 
 honour; this patron saint of our sailors was rather 
 antiquated, and painted with very simple art ; yet 
 these porcelain images live much longer than real 
 men, and her red and blue robe still seemed very 
 fresh in the midst of the sombre greys of the poor 
 wooden box. She must have listened to many an ar- 
 dent prayer in deadly hours ; at her feet were nailed a 
 couple of nosegays of artificial flowers and a rosary. 
 
 These half-dozen men were dressed alike : a thick 
 
THE FISHERMEN . 
 
 5 
 
 blue woollen jersey clung to the body, drawn in by 
 the waist-belt ; on the head was worn the waterproof 
 helmet, known as the sou’- wester. These men were of 
 different ages. The skipper might have been about 
 forty ; the three others between twenty-five and thirty. 
 The youngest, whom they called Sylvestre or “Lurlu,” 
 was only seventeen, yet already a man for height and 
 strength ; a fine curly black beard covered his cheeks ; 
 still he had child-like eyes, bluish-grey in hue, and 
 sweet and tender in expression. 
 
 Huddled against one another, for want of space, they 
 seemed to feel downright comfort, snugly packed in 
 their dark home. 
 
 Outside spread the ocean and night — the infinite 
 solitude of dark fathomless waters. A brass watch, 
 hung on the wall, pointed to eleven o’clock — doubt- 
 less eleven at night — and upon the deck pattered the 
 drizzling rain. 
 
 Among themselves, they treated these questions of 
 marriage very merrily; but without saying anything 
 indecent. No, indeed, they only sketched plans for 
 those who were still bachelors, or related funny stories 
 happening, at home, at wedding-feasts. Sometimes, 
 with a happy laugh, they made some rather too free 
 remarks about the fun in love-making. But love- 
 
6 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 making, as these men understand it, is always a healthy 
 sensation, and for all its coarseness, remains tolerably 
 chaste. 
 
 But Sylvestre was worried, because a mate called 
 Jean (which Bretons pronounce “ Yann”) did not come 
 down below. 
 
 Where could Yann be, by the way ? was he lashed 
 to his work on deck ? Why did he not come below to 
 take his share in their feast ? 
 
 “It’s close on midnight, hows’ever,” observed the 
 captain ; and, drawing himself up, he raised the scuttle 
 with his head, so as to call Yann that way. 
 
 Then a weird glimmer fell from above. 
 
 “ Yann ! Yann ! Look alive, matey ! ” 
 
 “ Matey ” answered roughly from outside, whilst, 
 through the half-opened hatchway, the faint light 
 kept entering like that of dawn. Nearly midnight, 
 yet it looked like a peep of day, or the light of the 
 starry gloaming, sent from afar through mystic lenses 
 of magicians. 
 
 When the aperture closed, night reigned again, save 
 for the small lamp, “ sended ” now and again aside, which 
 shed its yellow light. The man in clogs was heard 
 coming down the wooden steps. 
 
 He entered bent in two like a big bear, for he was 
 
THE FISHERMEN. 
 
 7 
 
 a giant. At first he made a wry face, holding his nose, 
 because of the acrid smell of the souse. 
 
 He exceeded a little too much the ordinary pro- 
 portions of man, especially in breadth, though he 
 was straight as a poplar. When he faced you the 
 muscles of his shoulders, moulded under his blue 
 jersey, stood out like great globes at the tops of his 
 arms. His large brown eyes were very mobile, with 
 a grand, wild expression. 
 
 Sylvestre threw his arms round Yann, and drew him 
 towards him tenderly, after the fashion of children. 
 Sylvestre was betrothed to Yann’s sister, and he 
 treated him as an elder brother, of course. And Yann 
 allowed himself to be pulled about like a young lion, 
 answering by a kind smile which showed his white 
 teeth. These were somewhat far apart, and appeared 
 quite small. His fair moustache was rather short, al- 
 though never cut. It was tightly curled in small rolls 
 above his lips, which were most exquisitely and deli- 
 cately modelled, and then frizzed off at the ends on 
 either side of the deep corners of his mouth. The 
 remainder of his beard was shaven, and his high-coloured 
 cheeks retained a fresh bloom like that of fruit never 
 yet handled. 
 
 When Yann was seated, the mugs were filled up anew. 
 
8 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 The lighting of all the pipes was an excuse for the 
 cabin boy to smoke a few whiffs himself. He was a 
 robust little fellow, with round cheeks — a kind of 
 little brother to them all, more or less related to one 
 another as they were; otherwise, his work had been 
 hard enough for the darling of the crew. Yann let 
 him drink out of his own glass, before he was sent 
 to bed. Thereupon, the important topic of marriage 
 was revived. 
 
 “ But I say, Yann,” asked Sylvestre, “ when are we 
 going to celebrate your wedding ? ” 
 
 “You ought to be ashamed,” said the master; “a 
 hulking chap like you, twenty-seven years old, and not 
 yet spliced, ho, ho! What must the lasses think of 
 you when they see you roll by ? ” 
 
 Yann answered by snapping his thick fingers with 
 a contemptuous look for the women folk. He had just 
 worked off his five years’ government naval service ; 
 and it was as master-gunner of the fleet that he 
 had learned to speak good French and hold sceptical 
 opinions. He hemmed and hawed and then rattled 
 off his latest love adventure, which had lasted a 
 fortnight. 
 
 It happened in Nantes, a Free-and-Easy singer for the 
 heroine. One evening, returning from the waterside, 
 
THE FISHERMEN. 
 
 9 
 
 being slightly tipsy, lie had entered the music hall. 
 At the door stood a woman selling big bouquets, at 
 twenty francs a-piece. He had bought one, without 
 quite knowing what he should do with it, and before 
 he was much more than in, had thrown it with great 
 force at the vocalist upon the stage, striking her full in 
 the face, partly as a rough declaration of love, partly 
 through disgust for the painted doll who was too pink 
 for his taste. The blow had felled the woman to the 
 boards, and — she worshipped him during the three 
 following weeks. 
 
 “ Why, bless ye, lads, when I left she made me this 
 here present of a real gold watch.” 
 
 The better to show it them, he threw it upon the 
 table like a worthless toy. 
 
 This was told with coarse words and oratorical 
 flourishes of his own. Yet this commonplace of civi- 
 lised life jarred sadly among such simple men, with the 
 grand solemnity of the ocean around them ; in the glim- 
 mering of midnight, falling from above, was an impres- 
 sion of the fleeting summers of the far north country. 
 
 These ways of Yann greatly pained and surprised 
 Sylvestre. He was a girlish boy, brought up in respect 
 for holy things, by an old grandmother, the widow of a 
 fisherman in the village of Ploubazlanec. As a tiny 
 
IO 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 child, he used to go every day with her, to kneel and tell 
 his beads, over his mother’s grave. From the church- 
 yard on the cliff, the grey waters of the Channel wherein 
 his father had disappeared in a shipwreck, could be 
 seen in the far distance. 
 
 As his grandmother and himself were poor, he had 
 to take to fishing in his early youth, and his childhood 
 had been spent out on the open water. Every night 
 he said his prayers, and his eyes still wore their religious 
 purity. He was captivating, though, and next to Yann 
 the finest-built lad of the crew. His voice was very 
 soft, and its boyish tones contrasted markedly with his 
 tall height and black beard ; as he had shot up very 
 quick, he was almost puzzled to find himself suddenly 
 grown so tall and big. He was expecting to marry 
 Yann’s sister soon, but had never yet answered any 
 girl’s love advances. 
 
 There were only three sleeping bunks aboard, so they 
 turned in, one being double -berthed, taking their 
 alternation. 
 
 When they had finished their feast, celebrating the 
 Assumption of their patron saint, it was a little past 
 midnight. Three of them crept away to bed in the 
 small dark recesses which resembled coffin-shelves ; and 
 the three others went up on deck to get on with their 
 
THE FISHERMEN. 
 
 ii 
 
 often interrupted, heavy labour of fish-catching ; the 
 latter were Yann, Sylvestre, and one of their fellow- 
 villagers known as Guillaume. 
 
 It was daylight, the everlasting day of those regions 
 — a pale, dim light, resembling no other ; bathing all 
 things, like the gleams of a setting sun. Around them 
 stretched an immense colourless waste, and excepting 
 the planks of their ship, all seemed transparent, 
 ethereal, and fairy-like. The eye could not distinguish 
 what the scene might be : first it appeared as a quiver- 
 ing mirror which had no objects to reflect ; and in the 
 distance it became a desert of vapour; and beyond 
 that a void, having neither horizon nor limits. 
 
 The damp freshness of the air was more intensely 
 penetrating than dry frost ; and when breathing it, one 
 tasted the flavour of brine. 
 
 All was calm, and the rain had ceased ; overhead the 
 clouds, without form or colour, seemed to conceal that 
 latent light which could Aot be explained ; the eye 
 could see clearly, yet one was still conscious of the 
 night ; this dimness was all of an indefinable hue. 
 
 The three men on deck had lived since their child- 
 hood upon the frigid seas, in the very midst of their 
 mists, which are vague and troubled as the background 
 of dreams. They were accustomed to see this varying 
 
12 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 infinitude play about their paltry ark of planks, and 
 their eyes were as used to it as those of the great free 
 ocean-birds. 
 
 The boat rolled gently with its everlasting wail, as 
 monotonous as a Breton song moaned by a. sleeper. 
 Yann and Sylvestre had got their bait and lines 
 ready, whilst their mate opened a barrel of salt, and 
 whetting his long knife, went and sat behind them, 
 waiting. 
 
 He did not have to wait long, or they either. They 
 had hardly thrown their lines into the calm, cold water, 
 in fact, before they drew in huge heavy fish, of a steel- 
 grey sheen. And, time after time, the cod-fish let 
 themselves be hooked, in a rapid and unceasing 
 silent series. The third man ripped them op N en with 
 his long knife, spread them flat, salted and counted 
 them, and piled up the lot — which upon their return 
 would constitute their fortune — behind them, all still 
 redly streaming and still sweet and fresh. 
 
 The hours passed monotonously, whilst in the im- 
 measurably empty regions beyond the light slowly 
 changed till it grew less unreal. What at first had 
 appeared a livid gloaming, like a northern summer’s 
 eve, became now, without any intervening “ dark hour 
 before dawn,” something like a smiling morn, reflected 
 
THE FISHERMEN. 
 
 13 
 
 by all the facets of the oceans, in fading, roseate-edged 
 streaks. 
 
 “You really ought to marry, Yann,” said Sylvestre, 
 suddenly and very seriously this time, still looking into 
 the water. (He seemed to know somebody in Brittany, 
 who had allowed herself to be captivated by the brown 
 eyes of his “ big brother,” but he felt shy upon so 
 solemn a subject.) 
 
 “ Me ! Lor’, yes, some day I will marry.” He smiled, 
 did the always contemptuous Yann, rolling his passion- 
 ate eyes. “ But I’ll have none of the lasses at home ; 
 no, I’ll wed the sea, and I invite ye all in the barkey 
 now, to the ball I’ll give at my wedding.” 
 
 They kept on hauling in, for their time could not be 
 lost in chatting ; they had an immense quantity of fish 
 in a travelling shoal which had not ceased passing for 
 the last two days. 
 
 They had been up all night, and, in thirty hours, had 
 caught more than a thousand prime cods ; so that even 
 their strong arms were tired and they were half asleep. 
 But their bodies remained active and continued their 
 toil, though occasionally their minds floated off in 
 regions of profound sleep. But the free air they 
 breathed was as pure as that of the first young days 
 of the world, and so bracing, that notwithstanding 
 
14 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 their weariness, they felt their chests expand and their 
 cheeks glow as at arising. 
 
 Morning, the true morning light, at length came ; as 
 in the days of Genesis, it had “ divided from the dark- 
 ness,” which had settled upon the horizon and rested 
 there in great heavy masses ; and by the clearness of 
 vision now, it was seen night had passed, and that that 
 first vague strange glimmer was only a forerunner. 
 In the thickly- veiled heavens, broke out rents here and 
 there, like side skylights in a dome, through which 
 pierced glorious rays of light, silver and rosy. The 
 lower-lying clouds were grouped round in a belt of 
 intense shadow, encircling the waters and screening the 
 far-off distance in darkness. They hinted as of a space 
 in a boundary ; they were as curtains veiling the Infinite, 
 or as draperies drawn to hide the too majestic mysteries, 
 which would have perturbed the imagination of mortals. 
 
 On this special morning, around the small plank 
 platform occupied by Yann and Sylvestre, the shifting 
 outer world had an appearance of deep meditation ; 
 as though this were an altar recently raised — and the 
 sheaves of sun-rays, which darted like arrows under the 
 sacred arch, spread in a long glimmering stream over 
 the motionless waves, as over a marble floor. Then, 
 slowly and more slowly yet loomed still another wonder ; 
 
THE FISHERMEN. 
 
 15 
 
 a high, majestic, pink profile — it was a promontory of 
 gloomy Iceland. 
 
 Yann’s wedding with the sea ? Sylvestre was still 
 thinking of it — after resuming his fishing without daring 
 to say anything more. He had felt quite sad when his 
 big brother had so turned the holy sacrament of marriage 
 into ridicule ; and it had particularly frightened him, 
 as he was superstitious. 
 
 For so long, too, he had mused on Yann’s marriage ! 
 He had thought that it might take place with Gaud 
 Mevel — a blonde lass from Paimpol ; and that he would 
 have the happiness of being present at the marriage- 
 feast before starting for the navy, that long five-years’ 
 exile, with its dubious return, the thought of which 
 already plucked at his heart-strings. 
 
 Four o’clock in the morning now. The watch below 
 came up, all three, to relieve the others. Still rather 
 sleepy, drinking in chestfuls of the fresh, chill air, they 
 stepped up, drawing their long sea-boots higher, and 
 having to shut their eyes, dazzled at first by a light so 
 pale, yet in such abundance. 
 
 Yann and Sylvestre took their breakfast of biscuits, 
 which they had to break with a mallet, and began to 
 munch noisily, laughing at them being so very hard. 
 They had become quite merry again at the idea of going 
 
i6 
 
 AN- ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 down to sleep, snugly and warmly in their berths, and 
 clasping each other round the waist, they danced up to 
 the hatchway to an old song-tune. 
 
 Before disappearing through the aperture, they 
 stopped to play with Turc, the ship’s dog, a young 
 Newfoundland, with great clumsy paws. They sparred 
 at him, and he pretended to bite them like a young 
 wolf, until he bit too hard and hurt them, whereupon 
 Yann, with a frown and anger in his quick- changing 
 eyes, pushed him aside with an impatient blow which 
 sent him flying and made him howl. Yann had a kind 
 heart enough, but his nature remained rather untamed, 
 and when his physical being was touched, a tender 
 caress was often more like a manifestation of brutal 
 violence. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ICELANDERS. 
 
 Their smack was named La Marie , and her master 
 was Captain Guermeur. Every year she set sail for 
 the big dangerous fisheries, in the frigid regions where 
 the summers have no night. She was a very old ship, 
 as old as the statuette of her patron saint itself. Her 
 heavy oaken-built planks were rough and worn, impreg- 
 
ICELANDERS. 
 
 17 
 
 nated with ooze and brine, but still strong and stout, 
 and smelling strongly of tar. At anchor she looked 
 an old unwieldy tub from her so massive build, but 
 when blew the mighty western gales, her lightness 
 returned, like a sea-gull awakened by the wind. Then 
 she had her own style of tumbling over the rollers, 
 and rebounding more lightly than many newer ones, 
 launched with all your new fangles. 
 
 As for the crew of six men and the boy, they were 
 “ Icelanders,” the valiant race of seafarers whose homes 
 are at Paimpol and Treguier, and who from father to 
 son are destined for the cod fisheries. 
 
 They had hardly ever seen a summer in France. At 
 the end of each winter, they, with other fishers, received 
 the parting blessing in the harbour of Paimpol. And 
 for that fete-day an altar, always the same, and imitating 
 a rocky grotto, was erected on the quay ; and over it, in 
 the midst of anchors, oars, and nets, was enthroned the 
 Virgin Mary, calm, and beaming with affection, the 
 patroness of sailors ; she would be brought from her 
 chapel for the occasion, and had looked upon generation 
 after generation with her same lifeless eyes, blessing 
 the happy for whom the season would be lucky, and 
 the others who would never more return. 
 
 The Host, followed by a slow procession of wives, 
 
 B 
 
i8 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 mothers, sweethearts, and sisters, was borne round the 
 harbour, where the boats bound for Iceland, bedecked 
 in all colours, saluted it on its way. The priest halted 
 before each, giving them his holy blessing ; and then 
 the fleet started, leaving the country desolate of 
 husbands, lovers, and sons; and as the shores faded 
 from their view, the crews sang together in low, full 
 voices, the hymns sacred to “ the Star of the Ocean.” 
 
 And every year saw the same ceremonies, and heard 
 the same good-byes. 
 
 Then began the life out upon the open sea, in the 
 solitude of three or four rough companions, on the 
 moving thin planks in the midst of the seething waters 
 of the northern seas. 
 
 Until now, La Marie's men had always returned; 
 — the “ Virgin Star of the Ocean” had protected the 
 ship which bore her name. 
 
 The end of August was the date for these homeward 
 comings ; but La Marie followed the custom of many 
 Icelanders, which is merely to touch at Paimpol, and 
 then to sail down to the Gulf of Gascony, where fish 
 fetches high prices, or further on to the Sandy Isles, 
 with their salty swamps, where they buy the salt for 
 the next expedition. The crews of lusty fellows stay 
 a few days in the southern, sun-kissed harbour-towns, 
 
THE WOMEN AT HOME. 
 
 19 
 
 intoxicated by tlie last rays of summer, by the sweet- 
 ness of the balmy air, and by the downright jollity of 
 youth. 
 
 With the first mists of autumn they return home to 
 Paimpol, or to the scattered huts of the land of Goelo, 
 to remain some time in their families, in the midst of 
 love, marriages, and births. Very often they find unseen 
 babies upon their return, waiting for godfathers ere 
 they can be baptized, for many children are needed to 
 keep up this race of fishermen, which the Icelandic 
 Moloch devours. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE WOMEN AT HOME. 
 
 At Paimpol, one fine evening of this same year, upon 
 a Sunday in June, two women were deeply busy in 
 writing a letter. 
 
 This took place before a large open window, with 
 a row of flower-pots on its heavy old granite sill. 
 
 As well as could be seen from their bending over 
 the table, both were young. One wore a very large 
 old-fashioned cap ; the other quite a small one, in the 
 new style adopted by the women of Paimpol ; — they 
 
20 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 might have been taken for two loving lasses writing 
 a tender missive to some handsome “ Icelander.” 
 
 The one who dictated — the one with the large head- 
 dress — drew up her head, wool-gathering. Oh, she was 
 old, very old, too, notwithstanding her look from behind, 
 in her small brown shawl. — we mean downright old. 
 A sweet old granny, seventy, at least. Very pretty, 
 though, and still fresh-coloured, with the rosy cheeks 
 some old people have. Her coiffc was drawn low upon 
 the forehead and upon the top of the head, was com- 
 posed of two or three large rolls of muslin which 
 seemed to telescope out of one another, and fell on 
 to the nape. Her venerable face, framed in the pure 
 white pleats, had almost a nuns look, while her soft, 
 tender eyes wore a kindly expression. She had not 
 the vestige of a tooth left, and when she laughed she 
 showed her round gums, which had still the freshness 
 of youth. 
 
 Although her chin had become as pointed “as the 
 toe of a sabot” (as she was in the habit of saying), 
 her profile was not spoilt by time ; and it was easily 
 imagined that in her youth it had been regular and 
 pure, like the saints’ adorning a church. 
 
 She looked through the window, trying to think of 
 news that might amuse her grandson at sea. 
 
THE WOMEN AT HOME. 
 
 21 
 
 There existed not in the whole country of Paimpol 
 another dear old body like her, to invent such funny 
 stories upon everybody, and even upon nothing. Already 
 in this letter there were three or four merry tales, but 
 without the slightest mischief, for she had nothing 
 ill-natured about her. 
 
 ' The other woman, finding that ideas were getting 
 scarce, began to write the address carefully : — 
 
 “ To Monsieur Moan, Sylvestre, 
 
 Aboard the Marie, 
 
 cjo Captain Guermeur, 
 
 In the Sea of Iceland, near Rykawyk.” 
 
 Here she lifted her head to ask : 
 
 “ Is that all, Granny Moan ? ” 
 
 The querist was young, adorably young, a girl of 
 twenty, in fact ; very fair — a rare complexion in this 
 corner of Brittany, where the race runs swarthy — 
 very fair, we say, with great grey eyes between almost 
 black lashes ; her brows, as fair as the hair, seemed 
 as if they had a darker streak in their midst, which 
 gave a wonderful expression of strength and will to 
 the beautiful face. The rather short profile was very 
 dignified, the nose continuing the line of the brow 
 with absolute rectitude, as in a Greek statue. A deep 
 
22 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 dimple under the lower lip foiled it up delightfully; 
 and from time to time, when she was absorbed by a 
 particular idea, she bit this lower lip with her white 
 upper teeth, making the blood run in tiny red veins 
 under the delicate skin. In her supple form there 
 was no little pride, with gravity also, which she in- 
 herited from the bold Icelandic sailors, her ancestors. 
 The expression of her eyes was both steady and gentle. 
 
 Her cap was in the shape of a cockle-shell, worn 
 low on the brow, and drawn back on either side, 
 showing thick tresses of hair about the ears, a head- 
 dress which has remained from remote times and gives 
 quite an olden look to the women of Paimpol. 
 
 One felt instinctively that she had been reared 
 otherwise than the poor old woman to whom she gave 
 the name of grandmother, but who, in reality, was but 
 a distant great-aunt. 
 
 She was the daughter of M. Mevel — a former “ Ice- 
 lander,” a bit of a freebooter, who had made a fortune 
 by bold undertakings out at sea. 
 
 The fine room where the letter had been just written 
 was hers; a new bed, like townspeople have, with 
 muslin lace-edged curtains, and on the stone walls 
 a light-coloured paper, toning down the irregularities 
 of the granite; overhead, a coating of whitewash 
 
THE WOMEN AT HOME. 
 
 23 
 
 covered the great beams, which revealed the anti- 
 quity of the abode ; it was the home of well-to-do 
 folk, and the windows looked out upon the old 
 grey market-place of Paimpol, where the pardons are 
 held. 
 
 “ Is it done, Granny Yvonne ? Have you nothing 
 else to tell him ? ” 
 
 “ No, my lass, only I would like you to add a word 
 of greeting to young Gaos.” 
 
 “ Young Gaos” was otherwise called Yann. The 
 proud beautiful girl had blushed very red when she 
 wrote those words. 
 
 And as soon as they were added at the bottom of 
 the page, in a running hand, she rose and turned her 
 head aside as if to look at some very interesting object 
 out on the market-place. 
 
 Standing, she was rather tall ; her waist was 
 modelled in a clinging bodice, as perfectly fitting 
 as that of a fashionable dame. For all of her cap, 
 she looked like a real lady. Even her hands, without 
 being conventionally small, were white and delicate, 
 never having touched rough work. 
 
 True, she had been at first little Gaud (Daisy), 
 paddling bare-footed in the water, motherless, almost 
 wholly neglected during the season of the fisheries, 
 
24 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 which her father spent in Iceland ; a pretty, untidy, 
 obstinate girl, but growing vigorous and strong in 
 the bracing sea-breeze. In those days she had been 
 sheltered, during the fine summers, by poor Granny 
 Moan, who used to give her Sylvestre to mind during 
 her days of hard work in Paimpol. Gaud felt the 
 adoration of a young mother for the child confided to 
 her tender care. She was his elder by about eighteen 
 months. He was as dark as she was fair, as obedient 
 and caressing as she was hasty and capricious. 
 
 She well remembered that part of her life ; neither 
 wealth or town life had altered it ; and like a far-off 
 dream of wild freedom it came back to her, or as the 
 remembrance of an undefined and mysterious previous 
 existence, where the sandy shores seemed longer, and 
 the cliffs higher and nobler. 
 
 Towards the age of five or six, which seemed long 
 ago to her, wealth had befallen her father, who began 
 to buy and sell the cargoes of ships. She had been 
 taken to Saint-Brieuc, and, later on, to Paris. And 
 from la petite Gaud she had become “Mademoiselle 
 Marguerite,” tall and serious, with earnest eyes. 
 Always left to herself, in another kind of solitude 
 than that of the Breton coast, she still retained her 
 obstinate nature of when a child. 
 
THE WOMEN AT HOME. 
 
 25 
 
 Living in large towns, her dress had become more 
 modified than herself. Although she still wore the 
 coif which Breton women discard so seldom, she had 
 learnt to dress herself in another way. 
 
 Every year she had returned to Brittany with her 
 father — in the summer only, like a fashionable, coming 
 to bathe in the sea — and lived again in the midst of 
 old memories, delighted to hear herself called u Gaud,” 
 rather curious to see these Icelanders of whom so much 
 was said, who were never at home, and of whom, each 
 year, some were missing ; on all sides she heard the 
 name of Iceland, which appeared to her as a distant 
 insatiable abyss. And there, now, was the man she 
 loved ! 
 
 One fine day she had returned to live in the midst 
 of these fishers, through a whim of her father, who had 
 wished to end his days there, and live like a landsman 
 in the market-place of Paimpol. 
 
 The good old dame, poor but tidy, left Gaud with 
 cordial thanks as soon as the letter had been read 
 again and the envelope closed. She lived rather far 
 away, at the other end of Ploubazlanec, in a hamlet on 
 the coast, in the same cottage where she had first seen 
 the light of day, and where her sons and grandsons 
 had been born. 
 
26 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 In the town, as she passed along, she answered 
 many friendly nods ; she was one of the oldest inhabi- 
 tants of the country, the last of a worthy and highly 
 esteemed family. 
 
 With great care and good management she managed 
 to appear pretty well dressed, although her gowns 
 were much darned, and hardly held together. She 
 always wore the tiny brown Paimpol shawl, which was 
 for best, and upon which the long muslin rolls of her 
 white caps had fallen for past sixty years; her own 
 marriage shawl, formerly blue, had been dyed for the 
 wedding of her son Pierre, and since then worn only 
 on Sundays, looked quite nice. 
 
 She still carried herself very straight, not at all like 
 an old woman ; and, in spite of her pointed chin, her 
 soft eyes and delicate profile made all think her still 
 very charming. She was held in great respect — one 
 could see that if only by the nods that people gave her. 
 
 On her way she passed before the house of her 
 gallant, the sweetheart of former days, a carpenter 
 by trade ; now an octogenarian, who sat outside his 
 door all the livelong day, while the young ones, his 
 sons, worked in the shop. It was said that he had 
 never consoled himself for her loss, for neither in first 
 or second marriage would she have him ; but with 
 
THE WOMEN AT HOME. 
 
 27 
 
 old age his feeling for her had become a sort of comical 
 spite, half friendly and half mischievous, and he always 
 called out to her : 
 
 “Aha, la belle , when must I call to take your 
 measure ? ” 
 
 But she declined with thanks ; she had not yet 
 quite decided to have that dress made yet. The truth 
 is, that the old man, with rather questionable taste, 
 spoke of the suit in deal planks, which is the last of all 
 our terrestrial garments. 
 
 “ Well, whenever you like ; but don’t be shy in asking 
 for it, you know, old lady.” 
 
 He had made this joke several times; but, to-day, 
 she could hardly take it laughing. She felt more tired 
 than ever of her hard-working life, and her thoughts 
 flew back to her dear grandson — the last of them all, 
 who, upon his return from Iceland, was to enter the 
 navy for five years! Perhaps he might have to go 
 to China, to the war! Would she still be about, upon 
 his return ? The thought alone was agony to her. 
 No, she was surely not so happy as she looked, poor 
 old granny ! 
 
 And was it really possible and true, that her last 
 darling was to be torn from her ? She, perhaps, might 
 die alone, without having seen him again ! Certainly, 
 
AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 some gentlemen of tlie town, whom she knew, had 
 done all they could to keep him from having to start, 
 urging that he was the sole support of an old and 
 almost destitute grandmother, who could no longer 
 work. But they had not succeeded — because of Jean 
 Moan, the deserter, an elder brother of Sylvestre’s, 
 whom no one in the family ever mentioned now, but 
 who still lived somewhere over in America, thus de- 
 priving his younger brother of the military exemption. 
 Moreover, it had been objected that she had her small 
 pension, allowed to the widows of sailors, and the 
 Admiralty could not deem her poor enough. 
 
 When she re-entered home, she said her prayers at 
 length for all her dead ones, sons and grandsons ; then 
 she prayed again with renewed strength and confidence 
 for her Sylvestre, and tried to sleep — thinking of the 
 “ suit of wood,” her heart sadly aching at the thought 
 of being so old, when this new parting was imminent. 
 
 Meanwhile, the other victim of separation, the girl, 
 had remained seated at her window, gazing upon the 
 golden rays of the setting sun, reflected on the granite 
 walls, and the black swallows wheeling across the sky 
 above. Paimpol was always quiet on these long May 
 evenings, even on Sundays; the lassies who had not 
 a single lad to make love to them, sauntered along, in 
 
THE WOMEN A T HOME. 
 
 29 
 
 couples or three together, brooding of their lovers in 
 Iceland. 
 
 “ A word of greeting to young Gaos ! ” She had 
 been greatly affected in writing that sentence, and that 
 name, which now she could not forget. She often 
 spent her evenings here at the window, like a grand 
 lady. Her father did not approve of her walking with 
 the other girls of her age, who had been her early 
 playmates. And as he left the cafe, and walked up and 
 down, smoking his pipe with old seamen like him- 
 self, he was happy to look up at his daughter among 
 her flowers, in his grand house. 
 
 “ Young Gaos ! ” Against her will she gazed sea- 
 ward ; it could not be seen, but she felt it was nigh, 
 at the end of the tiny street crowded with fishermen. 
 And her thoughts travelled through a fascinating and 
 delightful infinite, far, far away to the northern seas, 
 where “ La Marie , Capitaine Guermeur,” was sailing. 
 
 A strange man was young Gaos ! retiring and almost 
 incomprehensible now, after having come forward so 
 audaciously, yet so lovingly. 
 
 In her long reverie, she came on to remember her 
 return to Brittany, which had taken place the year 
 before. One December morning, after a night of 
 travelling, the train from Paris had deposited her 
 
3 ° 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 father and herself at Gningamp. It was a damp, 
 foggy morning, cold and almost dark. She had been 
 seized with a previously unknown feeling ; she could 
 hardly recognise the quaint little town, which she had 
 only seen during the summer — oh, that glad old time, 
 the dear old times of the past ! This silence, after 
 Paris ! This quiet life of people, who seemed of another 
 world, going about their simple business in the misty 
 morning. But the sombre granite houses, with their 
 dark, damp walls, and the Breton charm upon all 
 things, which fascinated her now that she loved Yann, 
 had seemed particularly saddening upon that morning. 
 Early housewives were already opening their doors, and 
 as she passed she could glance into the old-fashioned 
 houses, with their tall chimney-pieces, where sat the 
 old grandmothers, in their white caps, quiet and 
 dignified. As soon as daylight had begun to appear, 
 she had entered the church to say her prayers, and the 
 grand old aisle had appeared immense and shadowy 
 to her — quite different to all the Parisian churches — 
 with its rough pillars worn at the base by the chafing 
 in centuries, and its damp, earthy smell of age and 
 saltpetre. 
 
 In a damp recess, behind the columns, a taper was 
 burning, before which knelt a woman, making a vow ; 
 
THE WOMEN AT HOME. 
 
 3 
 
 the dim flame seemed lost in the vagueness of the 
 arches. Gaud experienced there the feeling of a long- 
 forgotten impression : that kind of sadness and fear 
 which she had felt when quite young at being taken to 
 mass at Paimpol Church on raw, wintry mornings. 
 
 But she hardly regretted Paris, although there were 
 many splendid and amusing sights there. Firstly, 
 because she felt almost cramped from having .the 
 blood of the vikings in her veins. And then, in 
 Paris, she felt like a stranger and an intruder. The 
 Parisiennes were tight-laced, artificial women, who 
 had a peculiar way of walking; and Gaud was too 
 intelligent even to have attempted to imitate them. 
 In her head-dress, ordered every year from the maker 
 in Paimpol, she felt out of her element in the capital ; 
 and did not understand that if the wayfarers turned 
 round to look at her, it was only because she made 
 a very charming picture. 
 
 Some of these Parisian ladies quite won her by their 
 high-bred and distinguished manners, but she knew 
 them to be inaccessible to her, whilst from others of 
 a lower caste who would have been glad to make 
 friends with her, she kept proudly aloof, judging them 
 unworthy of her attention. Thus had she lived almost 
 without friends, without other society than her father’s, 
 
AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 n "> 
 
 J w 
 
 who was engaged in business and often away. So she 
 did not regret that life of estrangement and solitude. 
 
 But, none the less, on that day of arrival she had 
 been painfully surprised by the bitterness of this 
 Brittany, seen in full winter. And her heart sickened 
 at the thought of having to travel another five or six 
 hours in a jolting car — to penetrate still further into 
 the blank desolate country to reach Paimpol. 
 
 All through the afternoon of that same grisly day, 
 her father and herself had journeyed in a little old 
 ramshackle vehicle, open to all the winds; passing, 
 with the falling night, through dull villages, under 
 the ghostly trees, black-pearled with mist in drops. 
 And erelong lanterns had to be lit, and she could 
 perceive nothing else but what seemed two trails of 
 green Bengal lights, running on each side before the 
 horses, and which were merely the beams which the 
 two lanterns projected on the never-ending hedges of 
 the roadway. But how was it that trees were so 
 green in the month of December? Astonished at 
 first, she bent to look out, and then she remembered 
 how the gorse, the ever-green gorse of the paths and 
 the cliffs, never fades in the country of Paimpol. 
 At the same time a warmer breeze began to blow, 
 which she knew again and which smelt of the sea. 
 
FIRST LOVE. 
 
 33 
 
 Towards the end of the journey she had been quite 
 awakened and amused by the new notion which struck 
 her, to wit : 
 
 “ As this is winter, I shall see the famous fishermen 
 of Iceland.” 
 
 For in December they were to return, the brothers, 
 cousins, and lovers of whom all her friends, great and 
 small, had spoken to her during the long summer 
 evening walks in her holiday trips. And the thought 
 had haunted her, though she felt chilled in the slow- 
 going vehicle. 
 
 Now she had seen them, and her heart had been 
 captured by one of them too. 
 
 CHAPTER IY. 
 
 FIRST LOVE. 
 
 The first day she had seen him, this Yann, was the 
 day after his arrival, at the “ Pardon des Islandais 
 which is on the eighth of December, the fete-day of 
 Our Lady of Bonne-Nouvelle, the patroness of fishers 
 — a little before the procession, with the grey streets, 
 still draped in white sheets, on which were strewn ivy 
 
 and holly and wintry blossoms with their leaves. 
 
 c 
 
34 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 At this “ Pardon ” the rejoicing was heavy and wild 
 under the sad sky. Joy without merriment, composed 
 chiefly of insouciance and contempt ; of physical strength 
 and alcohol ; above which floated, less disguised than 
 elsewhere, the universal warning of death. 
 
 A great clamour in Paimpol ; sounds of bells mingled 
 with the chants of the priests. Rough and monotonous 
 songs in the taverns — old sailor lullabies — songs of 
 woe, arisen from the sea, drawn from the deep night 
 of bygone ages. Groups of sailors, arm-in-arm, zig- 
 zagging through the streets, from their habit of 
 rolling, and because they were half-drunk. Groups 
 of girls in their nun-like white caps. Old granite 
 houses, sheltering these seething crowds; antiquated 
 roofs telling of their struggles, through many centuries, 
 against the western winds, the mist and the rain ; and 
 relating, too, many stories of love and adventure which 
 had passed under their protection. 
 
 And floating over all was a deep religious sentiment, 
 a feeling of bygone days, with respect for ancient 
 veneration and the symbols which protect it, and for 
 the white, immaculate Virgin. Side by side with the 
 taverns rose the church, its deep sombre portals thrown 
 open, and steps strewn with flowers, with its perfume 
 of incense, its lighted tapers, and the votive offerings 
 
FIRST LOVE. 
 
 35 
 
 of sailors hung all over the sacred arch. And side by 
 side also with the happy girls were the sweethearts of 
 dead sailors, and the widows of the shipwrecked fishers, 
 quitting the chapel of the dead in their long mourning 
 shawls and their smooth tiny coiffes ; with eyes down- 
 wards bent, noiselessly they passed through the midst 
 of this clamouring life, like a sombre warning. And 
 close to all was the everlasting sea, the huge nurse 
 and devourer of these vigorous generations, becoming 
 fierce and agitated as if to take part in the fete. 
 
 Gaud had but a confused impression of all these 
 things together. Excited and merry, yet with her 
 heart aching, she felt a sort of anguish seize her at the 
 idea that this country had now become her own again. 
 On the market-place, where there were games and acro- 
 bats, she walked up and down with her friends, who 
 named and pointed out to her from time to time the 
 young men of Paimpol or Ploubazlanec. A group of 
 these “ Icelanders ” were standing before the singers of 
 “ complaintes ” 1 with their backs turned towards them. 
 And directly Gaud was struck with one of them, tall 
 as a giant, with huge shoulders almost too broad ; 
 but she had simply said, almost with a touch of 
 mockery : 
 
 1 Complainte — a song of woe. 
 
36 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 “ There is one who is tall, to say the least ! ” And 
 the sentence implied beneath this was : 
 
 “What an encumbrance he’ll be to the woman he 
 marries, a husband of that size.” 
 
 He had turned round as if he had heard her, and had 
 given her a quick glance from top to toe, seeming to 
 say: 
 
 “ Who is this girl who wears the coiffe of Paimpol, 
 who is so elegant, and whom I have never seen before ? ” 
 And he quickly bent his eyes to the ground for 
 politeness’ sake, and had appeared to take a renewed 
 interest in the singers, only showing the back of his 
 head and his black hair which fell in rather long curls 
 upon his neck. And although she had asked the 
 names of several others, she had not dared ask his. 
 The fine profile, the grand half-savage look, the brown, 
 almost tawny pupils moving rapidly on the bluish opal 
 of the eyes ; all this had impressed her and made her 
 timid. 
 
 And it just happened to be that “ Pils Gaos,” of 
 whom she had heard the Moans speak as a great friend 
 of Sylvestre’s. On the evening of this same “ Pardon” 
 Sylvestre and he, walking arm-in-arm, had crossed her 
 father and herself, and had stopped to wish them good 
 day. 
 
FIRST LOVE. 
 
 37 
 
 And young Sylvestre had become again to her as 
 a sort of brother. As they were cousins they had 
 continued to tutoyer 1 each other ; true, she had at first 
 hesitated doing so to this great boy of seventeen, 
 who already wore a black beard, but as his kind, soft, 
 childish eyes had hardly changed at all, she recognised 
 him soon enough to imagine that she had never lost 
 sight of him. 
 
 When he used to come into Paimpol, she kept him 
 to dinner of an evening ; it was without consequence 
 to her, and he always had a very good appetite, being 
 rather on rations at home. 
 
 To speak truly, Yann had not been very polite to her 
 at this first meeting, which took place at the corner 
 of a tiny grey street, strewn with green branches. 
 He had raised his hat to her, with a noble though 
 timid gesture ; and after having given her an ever-rapid 
 glance, turned his eyes away, as if he were vexed with 
 this meeting and in a hurry to go. A strong western 
 breeze which had arisen during the procession, had 
 scattered branches of box everywhere and loaded the 
 sky with dark grey draperies. 
 
 Gaud, in her dreamland of remembrances, saw all 
 this clearly again ; the sad gloaming falling upon the 
 1 Tutoyer — using thou for you. A sign of familiarity. 
 
38 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 remains of the u Pardon ; ” the sheets strewn with white 
 flowers floating in the wind along the walls ; the noisy 
 groups of Icelanders, other waifs of the gales and 
 tempests flocking into the taverns, singing to cheer 
 themselves under the gloom of the coming rain; and 
 above all, Gaud remembered the giant standing in front 
 of her, turning aside as if annoyed, and troubled at 
 having met her. 
 
 What a wonderful change had come over her since 
 then; and what a difference there was between that 
 hubbub and the present tranquillity. How quiet and 
 empty Paimpol seemed to-night in the warm long 
 twilight of May, which kept her still at her window 
 alone, lulled in her love’s young dream ! 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE SECOND MEETING. 
 
 Their second meeting was at a wedding-feast. 
 Young Gaos had been chosen to offer her his arm. At 
 first she had been rather vexed, not liking the idea of 
 strolling through the streets with this tall fellow, whom 
 everybody would stare at, on account of his excessive 
 height, and who, most probably, would not know what 
 
THE SECOND MEETING. 
 
 39 
 
 to speak to her about. Besides, he really frightened 
 her with his wild, lofty look. 
 
 At the appointed hour, all were assembled for the 
 wedding procession save Yann, who had not appeared. 
 Time passed, yet he did not come, and they talked of 
 giving up any further waiting for him. Then it was 
 she discovered that it was for his pleasure, and his 
 alone, that she had donned her best dress ; with any 
 other of the young men present at the ball, the evening's 
 enjoyment would be spoilt. 
 
 At last he arrived, in his best clothes also, apologising, 
 without any embarrassment, to the bride’s party. The 
 excuse was, that some important shoals of fish, not at 
 all expected, had been telegraphed from England, as 
 bound to pass that night a little off Aurigny ; and so 
 all the boats of Ploubazlanec had hastily set sail. 
 There was great excitement in the villages, women 
 rushing about to find their husbands and urging them 
 to put off quickly, and struggling hard themselves to 
 hoist the sails and help in the launching ; in fact, a 
 regular “ turnout ” throughout the places, though in the 
 midst of the company Yann related this very simply ; 
 he had been obliged to look out for a substitute and 
 warrant him to the owner of the boat to which he 
 belonged for the winter season. It was this that had 
 
4 o 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 caused liim to be late, and in order not to miss the 
 wedding, he had “ turned up ” (abandoned) his share in 
 the profits of the catch. His plea was perfectly well 
 understood by his hearers, no one thinking of blaming 
 him ; for well all know that, in this coast life, all are 
 more or less dependent upon the unforeseen events at 
 sea, and the mysterious migrations of the fishy legions. 
 The other Icelanders present were disappointed at not 
 having been warned in time, like the fishers of Plou- 
 bazlanec, of the fortune which was skirting their very 
 shores. 
 
 But it was too late now, worse luck ! So they gave 
 their arms to the lasses, the violins began to play, and 
 joyously they all tramped out. 
 
 At first Yann had only paid her a few innocent com- 
 pliments, such as fall to a chance partner met at a 
 wedding, and of whom one knows but little. Amidst 
 all the couples in the procession, they formed the 
 only one of strangers, the others were all relatives 
 or sweethearts. 
 
 But during the evening while the dancing was going 
 on, the talk between them had again turned to the 
 subject of the fish, and looking her straight in the 
 eyes, he roughly said to her : 
 
 “You are the only person about Paimpol, and even 
 
THE SECOND MEETING. 
 
 4i 
 
 in the world, to boot, for whom I would have missed 
 such a windfall ; truly, for nobody else would I have 
 come back from my fishing, Mademoiselle Gaud.” 
 
 At first she was rather astonished that this fisherman 
 should dare so to address her who had come to this 
 ball rather like a young queen, but then delighted, she 
 had ended by answering : 
 
 “ Thank you, Monsieur Yann; and I, too, prefer 
 being with you than with anybody else.” 
 
 That was all. But from that moment until the end 
 of the dancing, they kept on chatting in a different 
 way to the outset, low and soft-voiced. 
 
 The dancing was to the sound of a hurdy-gurdy 
 and violin, the same couples almost always together. 
 When Yann returned to invite her again, after having 
 danced with another girl for politeness’ sake, they 
 exchanged a smile, like friends meeting anew, and 
 continued their interrupted conversation, which had 
 become very close. Simply enough, Yann spoke of 
 his fisher life, its hardships, its wage, and of his parents’ 
 difficulties in former years, when they had had fourteen 
 little Gaoses to bring up, he being the eldest. Now, 
 the old folks were out of the reach of need, because of 
 a wreck which their father had found in the Channel, 
 the sale of which had brought in 10,000 francs, 
 
42 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 omitting the share claimed by the Treasury. With 
 the money they built an upper storey to their house, 
 which was situated at the point of Ploubazlanec, at the 
 very land’s end, in the hamlet of Pors-Even, overlooking 
 the sea, and having a grand outlook. 
 
 “ It is mighty tough, though,” said he, “this here 
 life of an Icelander, having to start in February for 
 such a country, where it is awful cold and bleak, with 
 a raging, foaming sea.” 
 
 Gaud remembered every phrase of their conversation 
 at the ball, as if it had all happened yesterday, and 
 details came regularly back to her mind, as she looked 
 upon the night falling over Paimpol. If Yann had 
 had no idea of marriage, why had he told her all the 
 items of his existence, to which she had listened, as 
 only an engaged sweetheart would have done ; he did 
 not seem a commonplace young man, prone to babbling 
 his business to everybody who came along. 
 
 “ The line is pretty good, nevertheless,” he said, “ and 
 I shall never change my career. Some years we make 
 eight hundred francs, and others twelve hundred, which 
 I get upon my return, d’ye see, and them I hand over 
 to the old lady.” 
 
 “ To your mother, Monsieur Yann, eh ? ” 
 
THE SECOND MEETING. 
 
 43 
 
 “Yes, every penny of it, always. It’s the custom 
 with us Icelanders, Mademoiselle Gaud.” 
 
 He spoke of this as a quite ordinary and natural 
 course. 
 
 “ Perhaps you’ll hardly believe it, but I scarcely ever 
 have any pocket-money. Of a Sunday mother gives 
 me a little when I come into Paimpol. And so it goes 
 all the time. Why, look ’ee here, this year my father 
 had these clothes made for me, without which treat I 
 could never have come to the wedding ; certain sure, 
 for I should never have dared offer you my arm in my 
 old duds of last year.” 
 
 For one like her, accustomed to seeing Parisians, 
 dandies, Yann’s habiliments were, perhaps, not very 
 stylish; a short jacket open over the old-fashioned 
 waistcoat ; but the build of their wearer was irre- 
 proachably handsome, so that he had a noble look 
 withal. 
 
 Smiling, he looked at her straight in the depths of 
 her eyes each time he spoke to her, so as to divine her 
 opinion. And how good and honest was his look, as 
 he told her all these shortcomings, so that she might 
 well understand that he was not rich ! 
 
 And she smiled also, as she gazed at him full in the 
 face ; answering seldom, but listening with her whole 
 
44 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 soul, more and more astonished and more and more 
 drawn towards him. What a mixture of untamed 
 roughness and caressing childishness he was ! His 
 earnest voice, short and blunt towards others, became 
 softer and more and more tender as he spoke to her ; 
 and for her alone he knew how to make it trill with 
 extreme sweetness, like the music of a stringed instru- 
 ment with the mute upon it. 
 
 What a singular and astonishing fact it was to see 
 this man of brawn, with his free air and forbidding 
 aspect, always treated by his family like a child, and 
 deeming it quite natural ; having travelled over all the 
 earth, met with all sort of adventures, incurred all 
 dangers, and yet showing the same respectful and 
 absolute obedience to his parents. 
 
 She compared him to others, two or three dandies 
 in Paris, clerks, quill-drivers, or what not, who had 
 pestered her with their attentions, for the sake of her 
 money. He seemed to be the best, as well as the most 
 handsome, man she had ever met. 
 
 To put herself more on an equality with him she 
 related how, in her own home, she had not always been 
 so well-off as at present ; that her father had begun 
 life as a fisherman off Iceland, and always held the 
 Icelanders in great esteem ; and that she herself could 
 
THE SECOND MEETING . 
 
 45 
 
 clearly remember, as a little child, having run bare- 
 footed upon the beach, after her poor mother’s death. 
 
 Oh ! the exquisite night of that ball, unique in her 
 life ! It seemed far away now, for it dated back to 
 December, and May had already returned. All the 
 sturdy partners of that evening were out fishing 
 yonder now, scattered over the far northern seas, in 
 the clear pale sun, in intense loneliness, whilst the 
 dusk thickened silently on the land of Brittany. 
 
 Still Gaud remained at her window. The market- 
 place of Paimpol, hedged in on all sides by the old- 
 fashioned houses, became sadder and sadder with the 
 darkling ; everywhere reigned silence. Above the 
 housetops the still brilliant space of the sky seemed 
 to grow more hollow, to raise itself up and finally 
 separate itself from all terrestial things ; these, in the 
 last hour of day, were entirely blended into the single 
 dark outline of the gables of olden roofs. 
 
 From time to time a window or door would be 
 suddenly closed; some old sailor, shaky upon his 
 legs, would blunder out of the tavern and plunge into 
 the small dark streets ; or else girls, returning home 
 late after their walk and carrying nosegays of May- 
 flowers. One of them who knew Gaud, calling out 
 good evening to her, held up a branch of hawthorn 
 
46 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 high towards her as if to offer it her to smell ; in the 
 transparent darkness, she could distinguish the airy 
 tufts of its white blossoms. From the gardens and 
 courts floated another soft perfume, that of the flowering 
 honeysuckle along the granite walls, mingled with a 
 vague smell of sea-weed in the harbour. 
 
 Bats flew silently through the air above, like hideous 
 creatures in a dream. 
 
 Many and many an evening had Gaud passed at her 
 window, gazing upon the melancholy market-place, 
 thinking of the Icelanders who were far away, and 
 always of that same ball. 
 
 Yann was a capital waltzer, as straight as a young 
 oak, moving with a graceful yet dignified bearing, his 
 head thrown well back, his brown, curled locks falling 
 upon his brow, and floating with the motion of the 
 dance. Gaud, who was rather tall herself, felt their 
 contact upon her cap, as he bent towards her to grasp 
 her more tightly during the swift movements. 
 
 Now and anon he pointed out to her his little sister 
 Marie, dancing with Sylvestre, who was her fiancL 
 He smiled with a very tender look at seeing them both 
 so young and yet so reserved towards one another, 
 bowing gravely, and putting on very timid airs as they 
 communed lowly, on most amiable subjects, no doubt. 
 
THE SECOND MEETING. 
 
 47 
 
 Of course, Yann would never have allowed it to be 
 otherwise; yet it amused him, venturesome and bold 
 as he was, to find them so coy; and he and Gaud 
 exchanged one of their confidential smiles, seeming to 
 say : “ How pretty but how funny our little brother is ! ” 
 
 Towards the close of the evening, all the girls received 
 the breaking- up kiss; cousins, betrothed, and lovers, 
 all, in a good frank, honest way, before everybody. 
 
 But, of course, Yann had not kissed Gaud; none 
 might take that liberty with the daughter of M. 
 Mevel ; but he seemed to strain her a little more tightly 
 to him during the last waltzes, and she, trusting him, 
 did not resist, but yielded closer still, giving up her 
 whole soul, in the sudden, deep, and joyous attraction 
 which bound her to him. 
 
 “ Did you see the saucy minx, what eyes she made 
 at him?” queried two or three girls, with their own 
 eyes timidly bent under their golden or black brows, 
 though they had, among the dancers, one or two lovers, 
 to say the least. And truly, Gaud did look at Yann 
 very hard, only she had the excuse that he was the 
 first and only young man whom she had ever noticed 
 in her life. 
 
 At dawn, when the party broke up and left in 
 confusion, they had taken leave of one another, like 
 
48 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 betrothed ones, who are sure to meet the following day. 
 To return home, she had crossed this same market-place 
 with her father, little fatigued, feeling light and gay, 
 happy to breathe the frosty fog, and loving the sad 
 dawn itself, so sweet and enjoyable seemed bare life. 
 
 The May night had fallen long since ; nearly all the 
 windows had closed with a grating of their iron fittings, 
 but Gaud remained at her place, leaving hers open. 
 
 The last passers-by, who could distinguish the white 
 cap in the darkness, might say to themselves, “ That’s 
 surely some girl, dreaming of her sweetheart.” It was 
 true, for she was dreaming of hers, with a wild desire 
 to weep; her tiny white teeth bit her lips and con- 
 tinually opened and pursed up the deep dimple which 
 outlined the under lip of her fresh, pure mouth. Her 
 eyes remained fixed on the darkness, seeing nothing of 
 tangible things. 
 
 But, after the ball, why had he not returned ? What 
 change had come over him ? Meeting him by chance, 
 he seemed to avoid her, turning aside his look, which 
 was always fleeting, by the way. She had often debated 
 this with Sylvestre, who could not understand either. 
 
 “ But still, he’s the lad for you to marry, Gaud,” 
 said Sylvestre, “if your father allowed ye. In the 
 whole country round you’d not find his like. First, 
 
THE SECOND MEETING. 
 
 49 
 
 let me tell '*ee, lie’s a rare good one, though he mayn’t 
 look it. He seldom gets tipsy. He sometimes is 
 stubborn, but is very pliable for all that. No, I can’t 
 tell ’ee how good he is ! And such an A.B. seaman ! 
 Every new fishing season the skippers regularly fight 
 to have him.” 
 
 She was quite sure of her father’s permission, for she 
 never had been thwarted in any of her whims. And it 
 mattered little to her whether Yann were rich or not. 
 To begin with, a sailor like him would need but a little 
 money in advance, to attend the classes of the coast 
 navigation school, and might shortly become a captain 
 whom all shipowners would gladly intrust with their 
 vessels. It also mattered little to her that he was 
 such a giant ; great strength may become a defect in a 
 woman, but in a man is not prejudicial to good looks. 
 
 Without seeming to care much, she had questioned 
 the girls of the country round about, who knew all the 
 love stories going ; but he had no recognised engage- 
 ment with any one, he paid no more attention to one 
 than another, but roved from right to left, to Lezar- 
 drieux as well as to Paimpol, to all the beauties who 
 cared to receive his addresses. 
 
 One Sunday evening, very late, she had seen him 
 pass under her windows, in company with one Jeannie 
 
 D 
 
50 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 Caroff, whom he tucked under his wing quite close ; 
 she was pretty, certainly, but had a very bad reputation. 
 This had pained Gaud very much indeed. She had been 
 told that he was very quick-tempered : one night being 
 rather tipsy in a tavern of Paimpol, where the Ice- 
 landers held their revels, he had thrown a great marble 
 table through a door which they would not open to 
 him. But she forgave him all that ; we all know what 
 sailors are sometimes when the fit takes them. But 
 if his heart were good, why had he sought one out who 
 had never thought of him, to leave her afterwards ; 
 what reason had he had to look at her for a whole 
 evening with his fair, open smile, and use his softest, 
 tenderest voice to speak to her of his affairs as to a 
 betrothed ? Now, it was impossible for her to become 
 attached to another, or to change. In this same 
 country, when quite a child, she was used to being 
 scolded when naughty and called more stubborn than 
 any other child in her ideas ; and she had not altered. 
 Fine lady as she was now, rather serious and proud in 
 her ways, none had refashioned her, and she remained 
 always the same. 
 
 After this ball, the past winter had been spent in 
 waiting to see him again, but he had not even come 
 to say good-bye before his departure for Iceland. Since 
 
THE SECOND MEETING. 
 
 5i 
 
 lie was no longer by, nothing else existed in her 
 eyes ; slowly time seemed to drag until the return in 
 autumn, when she had made up her mind to put an 
 end to her doubts. 
 
 Eleven o’clock struck at the town-hall clock, — with 
 that peculiar resonance which bells have during the 
 quiet spring nights. 
 
 At Paimpol eleven o’clock is very late ; so Gaud 
 closed her window and lit her lamp, to go to bed. 
 
 Perhaps it was only shyness in Yann, after all, or 
 was it because, being proud also, he was afraid of a 
 refusal, as she was so rich ? She wanted to ask him 
 this herself straightforwardly, but Sylvestre thought 
 that it would not be the right thing, and it would 
 not look well for her to appear so bold. In Paim- 
 pol already her manners and dress were sufficiently 
 criticised. 
 
 She undressed slowly as if in a dream; first her 
 muslin cap, then her town- cut dress, which she threw 
 carelessly on a chair. 
 
 The little lamp, alone to burn at this late hour, 
 bathed her shoulders and bosom in its mysterious light, 
 her perfect form, which no eye had ever contemplated, 
 and never could contemplate if Yann did not marry her. 
 
 She knew her face was beautiful, but she was un- 
 
 umm 
 
 university of Illinois 
 
52 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 conscious of the beauty of her figure. In this remote 
 land, amongst daughters of fishers, beauty of shape is 
 almost part of the race ; it is hardly ever noticed, and 
 even the least respectable women are ashamed to 
 parade it. 
 
 Gaud began to unbraid her tresses, coiled in the 
 shape of a snail-shell and rolled round her ears, and the 
 two plaits fell upon her shoulders like weighty serpents. 
 She drew them up into a crown on the top of her 
 head, — the more comfortable mode of sleeping in, — so 
 that, by reason of her straight profile, she looked like 
 a Roman vestal. 
 
 She still held up her arms, and biting her under lip, 
 she slowly ran her fingers through the golden mass, 
 like a child playing with a toy, whilst thinking of 
 something else ; and again letting it fall, she quickly 
 unplaited it to spread it out ; soon she was covered 
 with her own locks, which fell to her knees, looking 
 like some Druidess. 
 
 And sleep having come, notwithstanding love and 
 an impulse to weep, she threw herself roughly in her 
 bed, hiding her face in the silken masses floating round 
 her outspread like a veil. 
 
 In her hut in Ploubazlanec, Granny Moan, who was 
 on the other and darker side of her life, had also fallen 
 
NEWS FROM HOME. 
 
 53 
 
 to sleep — the frozen sleep of old age — dreaming of her 
 grandson and of death. 
 
 And at this same hour, on board the Marie , on the 
 Northern Sea, which was very heavy on this particular 
 evening, Yann and Sylvestre — the two longed-for 
 rovers — sang ditties to one another, and went on gaily 
 with their fishing in the everlasting daylight. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 NEWS FROM HOME. 
 
 About a month later, around Iceland, the weather was 
 of that rare kind which the sailors call a dead calm ; 
 in other words, in the air nothing moved, as if all the 
 breezes were exhausted and their task done. 
 
 The sky was covered with a white veil, which 
 darkened towards its lower border near the horizon, 
 and gradually passed into dull grey leaden tints ; over 
 this the still waters threw a pale light, which fatigued 
 the eyes and chilled the gazer through and through. 
 All at once, liquid designs played over the surface, such 
 light evanescent rings as one forms by breathing on a 
 mirror. The sheen of the waters seemed covered with 
 a net of faint patterns, which intermingled and reformed, 
 
54 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 rapidly disappearing. Everlasting night or ever- 
 lasting day, one could scarcely say what it was; the 
 sun, which pointed to no special hour of the day, re- 
 mained fixed, as if presiding over the fading glory of 
 dead things; it appeared but as a mere ring, being 
 almost without substance, and magnified enormously 
 by a shifting halo. 
 
 Yann and Sylvestre, leaning against one another, 
 sang “ Jean-Fran^ois de Nantes,’’ the song without 
 an end, amused by its very monotony, looking at one 
 another from the corner of their eyes as if laughing at 
 the childish fun, with which they recommenced the 
 verses over and over again, trying to put fresh spirit 
 into them each time. Their cheeks glowed ruddily 
 under the sharp freshness of the morning; the pure 
 air they breathed was strengthening, and they inhaled 
 it deep down in their chests, the very fountain of all 
 vigorous existence. And yet, around them, was a 
 semblance of non-existence, of a world either finished 
 or not yet created ; the light itself had no warmth ; all 
 things seemed without motion, and as if chilled for 
 eternity under the great ghostly eye which represented 
 the sun. 
 
 The Marie projected over the sea a shadow long and 
 black as night, or rather appearing deep green in the 
 
NEWS FROM HOME. 
 
 55 
 
 midst of the polished surface, which reflected all the 
 purity of the heavens; in this shadowed part, which 
 had no glitter, could be plainly distinguished through 
 the transparency, myriads upon myriads of fish, all 
 alike, gliding slowly in the same direction, as if bent 
 towards the goal of their perpetual travels. They were 
 cods, performing their evolutions all as parts of a single 
 body, stretched full length in the same direction, 
 exactly parallel, offering the effect of grey streaks, 
 unceasingly agitated by a quick motion which gave 
 a look of fluidity to the mass of dumb lives. Some- 
 times, with a sudden quick movement of the tail, all 
 turned round at the same time, showing . the sheen of 
 their silvered sides ; and the same movement was 
 repeated throughout the entire shoal by slow undula- 
 tions, as if a thousand metal blades had each thrown a 
 tiny flash of lightning from under the surface. 
 
 The sun, already very low, lowered further ; so night 
 had decidedly come. 
 
 As the great ball of flame descended into the leaden- 
 coloured zones which surrounded the sea, it grew 
 yellow, and its outer rim became more clear and solid. 
 Now it could be looked straight at, as if it were but the 
 moon. Yet it still gave out light, and looked quite 
 near in the immensity ; it seemed that by going in a 
 
AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 56 
 
 ship, only as far as the edge of the horizon, one might 
 collide with the great mournful globe, floating in the 
 air just a few yards above the water. 
 
 Fishing was going on well ; looking into the calm 
 water, one could see exactly what took place ; how the 
 cods came to bite, with a greedy spring, then feeling 
 themselves hooked, wriggled about, as if to hook them- 
 selves still firmer. And every moment, with rapid 
 action, the fishermen hauled in their lines, hand-over- 
 hand, throwing the fish to the man who was to clean 
 them and flatten them out. 
 
 The Paimpol fleet was scattered over the quiet mirror, 
 animating the desert. Here and there appeared dis- 
 tant sails, unfurled for mere form’s sake, considering 
 there was no breeze. They were like clear white out- 
 lines upon the greys of the horizon. In this dead 
 calm, fishing off Iceland seemed so easy and tranquil 
 a trade that ladies’ yachting was no name for it. 
 
 “ Jean Francois de Nantes ; 
 
 Jean Francois, 
 
 Jean Francis ! ” 
 
 So they sang, like a couple of great children. 
 
 Yann little troubled whether or no he was handsome 
 and good-looking. He was boyish only with Sylvestre, 
 
NEWS FROM HOME. 
 
 57 
 
 it is true, and sang and joked with no other ; on the 
 contrary, he was rather distant with the others and 
 proud and disdainful, — very willing, though, when his 
 help was required, and always kind and obliging when 
 not irritated. 
 
 So the twain went on singing their song, with two 
 others, a few steps off, singing another, a dirge — a 
 clashing of sleepiness, health, and vague melancholy. 
 But they did not feel dull, and the hours flew by. 
 
 Down in the cabin a fire still smouldered in the iron 
 range, and the hatch was kept shut, so as to give the 
 appearance of night there for those who needed sleep. 
 They required but little air to sleep ; indeed, less robust 
 fellows, brought up in towns, would have wanted more. 
 They used to go to bed after the watch at irregular 
 times, just when they felt inclined, hours counting for 
 little in this never-fading light. And they always 
 slept soundly and peacefully without restlessness or bad 
 dreams. 
 
 “ Jean Francois de Nantes ; 
 
 Jean Francois, 
 
 Jean Francis ! ” 
 
 They looked attentively at some almost imperceptible 
 object, far off on the horizon, some faint smoke rising 
 from the waters like a tiny jot of another grey tint 
 
58 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 slightly darker than the sky’s. Their eyes were used 
 to plumbing depths, and they had soon seen it. 
 
 “ A sail, a sail, thereaway ! ” 
 
 u I have an idea/’ said the skipper, staring atten- 
 tively, “ that it’s a government cruiser coming on her 
 inspection- round.” 
 
 This faint smoke brought news of home to the sailors, 
 and amongst others, a letter we wot of, from an old 
 grandam, written by the hand of a beautiful girl. 
 Slowly the steamer approached till they perceived her 
 black hull. Yes, it was the cruiser, making the in- 
 spection in these western fjords. 
 
 At the same time, a slight breeze sprang up, fresher 
 yet to inhale, and began to tarnish the surface of 
 the still waters in patches ; it traced designs in a 
 bluish green tint over the shining mirror, and scatter- 
 ing in trails, these fanned out or branched off like a 
 coral tree ; all very rapidly with a low murmur ; it was 
 like a signal of awakening foretelling the end of this 
 intense torpor. The sky, its veil being rent asunder, 
 grew clear; the vapours fell down on the horizon, 
 massing in heaps like slate-coloured wadding, as if to 
 form a soft bank to the sea. The two ever-during 
 mirrors between which the fishermen lived, the one 
 on high and the one beneath, recovered their deep 
 
NEWS FROM HOME. 
 
 59 
 
 lucidity, as if the mists tarnishing them had been 
 brushed away. 
 
 The weather was changing in a rapid way which 
 foretold no good. 
 
 Smacks began to arrive from all points of the 
 immense plane ; first, all the French smacks in the 
 vicinity, from Brittany, Normandy, Boulogne, or Dun- 
 kirk. Like birds flocking to a call, they assembled 
 round the cruiser ; from the apparently empty corners 
 of the horizon, others appeared on every side; their 
 tiny grey wings were seen till they peopled the pallid 
 waste. 
 
 No longer slowly drifting, for they had spread out 
 their sails to the new and cool breeze, and cracked on 
 all to approach. 
 
 Far-off Iceland also reappeared, as if she would fain 
 come near them also; showing her great mountains 
 of bare stones more distinctly than ever. 
 
 And there arose a new Iceland of similar colour, 
 which little by little took a more definite form, and 
 none the less was purely illusive, its gigantic mountains 
 merely a condensation of mists. The sun, sinking 
 low, seemed incapable of ever rising again over all 
 things, though glowing through this phantom island 
 so tangibly that it seemed placed in front of it. 
 
6o 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 Incomprehensible sight ! no longer was it surrounded 
 by a halo, but its disc had become firmly spread, rather 
 like some faded yellow planet slowly decaying and 
 suddenly checked there in the heart of chaos. 
 
 The cruiser, which had stopped, was fully surrounded 
 by the fleet of Icelanders. From all, boats were 
 lowered, like so many nut-shells, and conveyed their 
 strong, long-bearded men, in barbaric-looking dresses, 
 to the steamer. 
 
 Like children, all had something to beg for; re- 
 medies for petty ailments, materials for repairs, change 
 of diet, and home letters. Others came, sent by their 
 captains, to be clapped in irons, to expiate some fault ; 
 as they had all been in the navy, they took this as 
 a matter of course. When the narrow deck of the 
 cruiser was blocked-up by four or five of these hulking 
 fellows, stretched out with the bilboes round their feet, 
 the old sailor who had just chained them up called 
 out to them, “ Roll o’ one side, my lads, to let us 
 work, d’ye hear ? ” which they obediently did with a 
 grin. 
 
 There were a great many letters this time for the 
 Iceland fleet. Amongst the rest, two for “ La Marie , 
 Captaine Guermeur ; ” one addressed to “ Monsieur 
 Gaos, Yann,” the other to “ Monsieur Moan, Sylvestre.” 
 
NE WS FROM HOME. 
 
 61 
 
 The latter had come over via Eykavyk, where the 
 cruiser had taken it on. 
 
 The purser, diving into his post-bags of sail-cloth, 
 distributed them all round, often finding it hard to 
 read the addresses, which were not always written very 
 skilfully, whilst the captain kept on saying : 
 
 “ Look alive there, look alive ! the barometer is 
 falling.” 
 
 He was rather anxious to see all the tiny yawls 
 afloat, and so many vessels assembled in that dangerous 
 region. 
 
 Yann and Sylvestre used to read their letters to- 
 gether. This time they read them by the light of the 
 midnight sun, shining above the horizon, still like a 
 dead luminary. Sitting together, a little to one side, 
 in a retired nook of the deck, their arms about each 
 other’s shoulders, they very slowly read, as if to enjoy 
 more thoroughly the news sent them from home. 
 
 In Yann’s letter Sylvestre got news of Marie Gaos, 
 his little sweetheart ; in Sylvestre’s, Yann read all 
 Granny Moan’s funny stories, for she had not her like 
 for amusing the absent ones you will remember ; and 
 the last paragraph concerning him came up : the 
 
 “ word of greeting to young Gaos.” 
 
 When the letters were got through, Sylvestre 
 
62 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 timidly showed his to his big friend, to try and make 
 him admire the writing of it. 
 
 “ Look, is it not pretty writing, Yann ? ” 
 
 But Yann, who knew very well whose hand had 
 traced it, turned aside, shrugging his shoulders, as 
 much as to say that he was worried too often about 
 this Gaud girl. 
 
 So Sylvestre carefully folded up the poor, rejected 
 paper, put it into its envelope and all in his jersey, 
 next his breast, saying to himself sadly : 
 
 a For sure, they’ll never marry. But what on earth 
 can he have to say against her ? ” 
 
 Midnight was struck on the cruiser’s bell. And yet 
 our couple remained sitting there, thinking of home, 
 the absent ones, a thousand things, in reverie. At 
 this same moment the everlasting sun, which had 
 dipped its lower edge into the waters, began slowly 
 to re-ascend, and lo ! this was morning. 
 
PART II. 
 
 IN THE BRETON LAND. 
 
PART II. 
 
 IN THE BRETON LAND. 
 
 CHAPTEK T. 
 
 THE PLAYTHING OF THE STORM. 
 
 The Northern sun had taken another aspect and 
 changed its colour, opening the new day by a sinister 
 morn. Completely free from its veil, it gave forth its 
 grand rays, crossing the sky in fitful flashes, foretelling 
 nasty weather. During the last few days it had been 
 too fine to last. The winds blew upon that swarm of 
 boats, as if to clear the sea of them ; and they began 
 to disperse and flee, like an army put to rout, before 
 the warning written in the air, beyond possibility to 
 misread. Harder and harder it blew, making men and 
 ships quake alike. 
 
 And the still tiny waves began to run one after 
 another and to melt together ; at first they were frosted 
 over with white foam spread out in patches ; and then, 
 
 with a whizzing sound, arose smoke as though they 
 
 E 
 
66 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 burned and scorched, and the whistling grew louder 
 every moment. Fish-catching was no longer thought 
 of ; it was their work on deck. The fishing-lines had 
 been drawn in, and all hurried to make sail and some 
 to seek for shelter in the fjords, whilst yet others pre- 
 ferred to round the southern point of Iceland, finding 
 it safer to stand for the open sea, with the free space 
 about them, and run before the stern wind. They 
 could still see each other a while : here and there, 
 above the trough of the sea, sails wagged as poor 
 wearied birds fleeing ; the masts tipped, but ever and 
 anon righted, like the weighted pith figures which 
 similarly resume an erect attitude when released after 
 being blown down. 
 
 The illimitable cloudy roof, erstwhile compacted 
 towards the western horizon, in an island form, began 
 to break up on high and send its fragments over the 
 surface. It seemed indestructible, for vainly did the 
 winds stretch it, pull and toss it asunder, continually 
 tearing away dark strips, which they waved over the 
 pale yellow sky, gradually becoming intensely and icily 
 livid. Ever more strongly grew the wind which threw 
 all things in turmoil. 
 
 The cruiser had departed for shelter at Iceland ; some 
 fishers alone remained upon the seething sea, which 
 
THE PLAYTHING OF THE STORM. 
 
 67 
 
 now took an ill-boding look and a dreadful colour. All 
 hastily made preparations for bad weather. Between 
 one and another the distance grew greater, till some 
 were lost sight of. 
 
 The waves, curling up in scrolls, continued to run 
 after each other, to re-assemble and climb on one another, 
 and between them the hollows deepened. 
 
 In a few hours, everything was belaboured and over- 
 thrown in these regions which had been so calm the 
 day before, and instead of the past silence, the uproar 
 was deafening. The present agitation was a dissolving 
 view, unconscientious and useless, and quickly accom- 
 plished. What was the obj ect of it all ? What a mystery 
 of blind destruction it was ! 
 
 The clouds continued to stream out on high, out of 
 the west continually, racing and darkening all. A few 
 yellow clefts remained, through which the sun shot its 
 last rays in volleys. And the now greenish water 
 was striped more thickly with snowy froth. 
 
 By midday the Marie was made completely snug 
 for dirty weather ; her hatches battened down, and her 
 sails storm-reefed; she bounded lightly and elastic; 
 for all the horrid confusion, she seemed to be playing 
 like the porpoises, also amused in storms. With her 
 foresail taken in, she simply scudded before the wind. 
 
68 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 It had become quite dark overhead, where stretched 
 the heavily crushing vault. Studded with shapeless 
 gloomy spots, it appeared a set dome, unless a steadier 
 gaze ascertained that everything was in the full rush of 
 motion ; endless grey veils were drawn along, unceas- 
 ingly followed by others, from the profundities of the 
 sky-line — draperies of darkness, pulled from a never- 
 ending roll. 
 
 The Marie fled faster and faster before the wind ; 
 and time fled also — before some invisible and mysterious 
 power. The gale, the sea, the Marie , and the clouds 
 were all lashed into one great madness of hasty flight 
 towards the same point. The fastest of all was the 
 wind ; then the huge seething billows,- heavier and 
 slower, toiling after ; and, lastly, the smack, dragged 
 into the general whirl. The waves tracked her down 
 with their white crests, tumbling onward in continual 
 motion, and she — though always being caught up to 
 and outrun — still managed to elude them by means of 
 the eddying waters she spurned in her wake, upon 
 which they vented their fury. In this similitude of 
 flight the sensation particularly experienced was of 
 buoyancy, the delight of being carried along without 
 effort or trouble, in a springy sort of a way. The 
 Marie mounted over the waves without any shaking, 
 
THE PLAYTHING OF THE STORM. 
 
 69 
 
 as if the wind had lifted her clean up ; and her sub- 
 sequent descent was a slide. She almost slid back- 
 wards, though, at times, the mountains lowering before 
 her as if continuing to run, and then she suddenly- 
 found herself dropped into one of the measureless 
 hollows which evaded her also ; without injury she 
 sounded its horrible depths, amid a loud splashing of 
 water, which did not even sprinkle her decks, but was 
 blown on and on like everything else, evaporating 
 in finer and finer spray until it was thinned away to 
 nothing. In the trough it was darker, and when each 
 wave had passed the men looked behind them to see 
 if the next to appear were higher ; it came upon them 
 with furious contortions, and curling crests, over its 
 transparent emerald body, seeming to shriek : “ Only 
 let me catch you, and I’ll swallow you whole ! ” 
 
 But this never came to pass, for, as a feather, the 
 billows softly bore them up and then down as gently ; 
 they felt it pass under them, with all its boiling surf 
 and thunderous roar. And so on continually, but the 
 sea getting heavier and heavier. One after another 
 rushed the waves, more and more gigantic, like a long 
 chain of mountains, with yawning valleys. And the 
 madness of all this movement, under the ever-darkening 
 sky, accelerated the height of the intolerable clamour. 
 
70 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 Yann and Sylvestre stood at the helm, still sing- 
 ing “ Jean Francois de Nantes; ” intoxicated with the 
 quiver of speed, they sang out loudly, laughing at their 
 inability to hear themselves in this prodigious wrath 
 of the wind. 
 
 “ I say, lads, does it smell musty up here too ? ” called 
 out Guermeur to them, passing his bearded face up 
 through the half-open hatchway, like a Jack-in-the-box. 
 
 Oh, no! it certainly did not smell musty on deck. 
 They were not at all frightened, being quite conscious 
 of what man can cope with, having faith in the strength 
 of their barkey and their arms. And they furthermore 
 relied upon the protection of that china virgin, which 
 had voyaged forty years to Iceland, and so often had 
 danced the dance of this day, smiling perpetually 
 between her branches of artificial flowers. 
 
 Generally speaking, they could not see far around 
 them ; a few hundred yards off, all seemed entombed 
 in the fearfully big billows, with their frothing crests 
 shutting out the view. They felt as if in an enclosure, 
 continually altering shape ; and, besides, all things 
 seemed drowned in the aqueous smoke, which fled before 
 them like a cloud with the greatest rapidity over the 
 heaving surface. But from time to time a gleam of sun- 
 light pierced through the north-west sky, through which 
 
THE PLAYTHING OF THE STORM. 
 
 7 
 
 it squall threatened ; a shuddering light would appear 
 from above, a rather spun-out dimness, making the 
 dome of the heavens denser than before, and feebly light- 
 ing up the surge. This new light was sad to behold ; 
 far-off glimpses as they were, that gave too strong an 
 understanding that the same chaos and the same fury 
 lay on all sides, even far, far behind the seemingly void 
 horizon ; there was no limit to its expanse of storm, 
 and they stood alone in its midst ! 
 
 A tremendous tumult arose all about, like the prelude 
 of an apocalypse, spreading the terror of the ultimate 
 end of the earth. And amidst it thousands of 
 voices could be heard above, shrieking, bellowing, call- 
 ing, as from a great distance. It was only the wind, 
 the great motive breath of all this disorder, the voice 
 of the invisible power ruling all. Then came other 
 voices, nearer and less indefinite, threatening destruc- 
 tion, and making the water shudder and hiss as if on 
 burning coals ; the disturbance increased in terror. 
 
 Notwithstanding their flight, the sea began to gain 
 on them, to “ bury them up,” as they phrased it : 
 first the spray fell down on them from behind, and 
 masses of water thrown with such violence as to break 
 everything in their course. The waves were ever in- 
 creasing, but the tempest tore off their ridges and 
 
72 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 hurled them, too, upon the poop, like a demon’s game 
 of snowballing, till dashed to atoms on the bulwarks. 
 Heavier masses fell on the planks with a hammering 
 sound, till the Marie shivered throughout, as if in pain. 
 Nothing could be distinguished over the side, because 
 of the screen of creamy foam; and when the winds 
 soughed more loudly, this foam formed into whirling 
 spouts, like the dust of the way in summer time. At 
 length a heavy rain fell crossways, and soon straight up 
 and down, and how all these elements of destruction yelled 
 together, clashed and interlocked, no tongue can tell. 
 
 Yann and Sylvestre stuck staunchly to the helm, 
 covered with their waterproofs, hard and shiny as 
 shark-skin ; they had firmly secured them at the 
 throat by tarred strings, and likewise at wrists and 
 ankles to prevent the water from running in, and the 
 rain only poured off them ; when it fell too heavily, 
 they arched their backs, and held all the more stoutly, not 
 to be thrown over the board. Their cheeks burned, and 
 every minute their breath was beaten out or stopped. 
 
 After each sea was shipped and rushed over, they 
 exchanged glances, grinning at the crust of salt settled 
 in their beards. 
 
 In the long run though, this became tiresome, an 
 unceasing fury, which always promised a worse visita- 
 
THE PLAYTHING OF THE STORM. 
 
 73 
 
 tion. The fury of men and beasts soon falls and dies 
 away ; but the fury of lifeless things, without cause or 
 object, is as mysterious as life and death, and has to 
 be borne for very long. 
 
 “Jean Frangois de Nantes; ” &c. 
 
 Through their pale lips still came the refrain of the 
 old song, but as from a speaking automaton, uncon- 
 sciously taken up from time to time. The excess of 
 motion and uproar had made them dumb, and despite 
 their youth their smiles were insincere, and their 
 teeth chattered with cold ; their eyes, half- closed 
 under their raw, throbbing eyelids, remained glazed in 
 terror. Lashed to the helm, like marble cariatides, 
 they only moved their numbed blue hands, almost 
 without thinking, by sheer muscular habit. With 
 their hair streaming and mouths contracted, they had 
 become changed, all the primitive wildness in man 
 appearing again. They could not see one another 
 truly, but still were aware of being companioned. In 
 the instants of greatest danger, each time that a fresh 
 mountain of water rose behind them, came to overtower 
 them, and crash horribly against their boat, one of their 
 hands would move as if involuntarily, to form the sign of 
 the cross. They no more thought of Gaud than of any 
 other woman, or any marrying. The travail was lasting 
 
74 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 too long, and they had no thoughts left. The intoxica- 
 tion of noise, cold, and fatigue drowned all in their 
 brain. They were merely two pillars of stiffened human 
 flesh, held up by the helm ; two strong beasts, cowering 
 but determined they would not be overwhelmed. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A PARDONABLE RUSE. 
 
 In Brittany, towards the end of September, on an 
 already chilly day, Gaud was walking alone across the 
 common of Ploubazlanec, in the direction of Pors-Even. 
 
 The Icelanders had returned a month back, except 
 two which had perished in that June gale. But the 
 Marie had held her own, and Yann and all her crew 
 were peacefully at home. 
 
 Gaud felt very troubled at the idea of going to Yann’s 
 house. 
 
 She had seen him once since the return from Iceland, 
 when they had all gone together to see poor little 
 Sylvestre off to the navy. They accompanied him to 
 the coaching-house, he blubbering a little and his 
 grandmother weeping, and he had started to join the 
 fleet at Brest. 
 
A PARDONABLE RUSE. 
 
 75 
 
 Yawn, who had come also to bid good-bye to his 
 little friend, had feigned to look aside when Gaud 
 looked at him, and as there were many people round 
 the coach to see other sailors off, and parents assembled 
 to say good-bye, the pair had not had a chance to speak. 
 So, at last, she had formed a strong resolution, and 
 rather timidly wended her way towards theGaos’ home. 
 
 Her father had formerly had mutual interests 
 with Yann’s father (complicated business, which, with 
 peasants and fishers alike, seems to be endless), and 
 owed him a hundred francs for the sale of a boat, which 
 had just taken place in a raffle. 
 
 a You ought to let me carry the money to him, 
 father,” she had said. “ I shall be pleased to see Marie 
 Gaos. I have never been so far in Ploubazlanec, either, 
 and I shall enjoy the long walk.” 
 
 To speak the truth, she was curiously anxious to 
 know Yann’s family — which she might some day enter 
 — and also wanted to see the house and village. 
 
 In one of their last chats, before his departure, 
 Sylvestre had explained to her, in his own way, his 
 friend’s shyness. 
 
 “D’ye see, Gaud, he’s like this, he won’t marry any- 
 body, that’s his idea ; he only loves the sea, and one day 
 even, in fun, he said he had promised to be wedded to it.” 
 
76 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 Whereupon, she forgave him all his peculiar ways, 
 and remembered only his beautiful open smile on the 
 night of the ball, and she hoped on and on. 
 
 If she were to meet him in his home, of course she 
 would say nothing ; she had no ' intention of being so 
 bold. But if he saw her closely again, perhaps he 
 might speak. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 OF SINISTER PORTENT. 
 
 She had been walking for the last hour, lightly yet 
 oppressed, inhaling the healthy open breeze whistling 
 up the roads to where they crossed and Calvaires were 
 erected, ghastly highway ornaments of our Saviour on 
 His cross, to which Bretons are given. 
 
 From time to time she passed through small fishing 
 villages, which are beaten about by the winds the 
 whole year through till of the colour of the rocks. In 
 one of these hamlets, where the path narrows suddenly 
 between dark walls, and between the white- washed 
 roofs, high and pointed like Celtic huts, a tavern sign- 
 board made her smile. It was “ The Chinese Cider 
 Cellars.” On it were painted two grotesque figures, 
 
OF SINISTER PORTENT . 
 
 77 
 
 dressed in green and pink robes, with pigtails, drinking 
 cider. No doubt tke whim of some old sailor who had 
 been in China. She saw all on her way ; people who 
 are greatly engrossed in the object of a journey always 
 find more amusement than others in its thousand 
 details. 
 
 The tiny village was far behind her now, and as she 
 advanced in this last promontory of the Breton land, 
 the trees around her became more scarce, and the 
 country more mournful. 
 
 The ground was undulating and rocky, and from all 
 the heights the open sea could be seen. No more 
 trees now ; nothing but the shorn heaths with their 
 green reeds, and here and there the consecrated 
 crosses rose, their outstretched arms outlined against 
 the sky, giving the whole country the aspect of a 
 cemetery. 
 
 At one of the cross- ways, guarded by a colossal 
 image of Christ, she hesitated between two roads 
 running among thorny slopes. 
 
 A child happening to pass, came to her rescue : 
 
 “ Good day, Mademoiselle Gaud ! ” 
 
 It was one of the little Gaoses, one of Yann’s wee 
 sisters. Gaud kissed her and asked her if her parents 
 were at home. 
 
78 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 “ Father and mother are, yes. But brother Yann,” 
 said the little one, without intent, of course, “ has gone 
 to Loguivy ; but I don’t think he’ll be very late home 
 again.” 
 
 So he was not there ? Again destiny was between 
 them, everywhere and always. She thought at first 
 of putting off her visit to another day. But the little 
 lass who had met her might mention the fact. What 
 would they think at Pors-Even ? So she decided to go 
 on, but loitering so as to give Yann time to return. 
 
 As she neared his village, in this lost country, all 
 things seemed rougher and more desolate. Sea breezes 
 which made men stronger, made shorter and more 
 stubbly plants. Seaweeds of all kinds were scattered 
 over the paths, leaves from growths in another element, 
 proving the existence of a neighbouring world ; their 
 briny odour mingled with the perfume of the heather. 
 
 Now and again Gaud met passers-by, sea-folk, who 
 could be seen a long way off, over the bare country, 
 outlined and magnified against the high sea-line. 
 Pilots or fishers, seeming to watch the great sea, in 
 passing her wished her good-day. Broad sun-burnt 
 faces were theirs, manly and determined under their 
 easy caps. 
 
 Time did not go quickly enough, and she really 
 
OF SINISTER PORTENT. 
 
 79 
 
 did not know what to do to lengthen the way ; 
 these people seemed surprised at seeing her walk so 
 slowly. 
 
 What could Yann be doing at Loguivy? Courting 
 the girls, perhaps. 
 
 Ah ! if she only had known how little he troubled his 
 head about them! He had simply gone to Loguivy 
 to give an order to a basket-maker, who was the only 
 one in the country knowing how to weave lobster pots. 
 His mind was very free from love just now. 
 
 She passed a chapel, at such a height it could be 
 seen remotely. It was a little grey old chapel in the 
 midst of the barren. A clump of trees, grey too, 
 and almost leafless, seemed like hair to it, pushed by 
 some invisible hand all on one side. 
 
 It was that same hand that had wrecked the fishers’ 
 boats, the eternal hand of the western winds, and had 
 twisted all the branches of the coast trees in the 
 direction of the waves and of the off-sea breezes. The 
 old trees had grown awry and dishevelled, bending 
 their backs under the time-honoured strength of that 
 hand. 
 
 Gaud was almost at the end of her walk, as the 
 chapel in sight was that of Pors-Even ; so she stopped 
 there to win a little more time. 
 
8o 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 A petty mouldering wall ran round an enclosure 
 containing tombstones. 
 
 Everything was of the same colour, chapel, trees, and 
 graves ; the whole spot seemed faded and eaten into by 
 the sea wind ; the stones, the knotty branches, and the 
 granite saints, placed in the wall niches, were covered 
 by the same greyish lichen, splashed pale yellow. 
 
 On one of the wooden crosses this name was written 
 in large letters 
 
 “Gaos. — Gaos, Joel, 8o years.” 
 
 Yes, this was the old grandfather — she knew that — 
 for the sea had not wanted this old sailor. And many 
 of Yann’s relatives, besides, slept here; it was only 
 natural, and she might have expected it; neverthe- 
 less, the name upon the tomb had made a sad im- 
 pression. 
 
 To waste a little more time, she entered to say a 
 prayer under the old cramped porch, worn away and 
 daubed over with whitewash. But she stopped again 
 with a sharp pain at her heart. u Gaos,” — again that 
 name, engraved upon one of the slabs erected in memory 
 of those who die at sea. 
 
 She read this inscription : — 
 
OF SINISTER PORTENT. 
 
 Si 
 
 “ To the Memory of 
 “Gaos, Jean-Louis, 
 
 “ Aged 24 years ; seaman on board the Marguerite. 
 
 “Disappeared off Iceland, August 3d, 1877. 
 
 “ May he rest in peace ! ” 
 
 Iceland — always Iceland ! All over the porch were 
 wooden slabs bearing the names of dead sailors. It 
 was the place reserved for the shipwrecked of Pors- 
 Even. Filled with a dark foreboding she was sorry to 
 have gone there. 
 
 In Paimpol church she had seen many such inscrip- 
 tions ; but in this village the empty tomb of the Iceland 
 fishers seemed more sad because so lone and humble. 
 On each side of the doorway was a granite seat for the 
 widows and mothers ; and this shady spot, irregularly 
 shaped like a grotto, was guarded by an old image of the 
 Virgin, coloured red, with large, staring eyes, looking 
 most like Cybela — the first goddess of the earth. 
 
 “Gaos!” Again! 
 
 “ To the memory of 
 “Gaos, Francois, 
 
 “ Husband of Anne-Marie le Goaster, 
 
 “ Captain on board the Paimpolais, 
 
 “ Lost off Iceland, between the 1st and 3d of May, 1877, 
 
 “ With the twenty-three men of his crew. 
 
 “ May they rest in peace ! ” 
 
 ¥ 
 
82 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 And, lower down, were two cross-bones under a black 
 skull with green eyes, a simple but ghastly emblem, 
 reminding one of all the barbarism of a bygone age. 
 
 “ Gaos, Gaos ! ” The name was everywhere. 
 
 As she read, thrills of sweet tenderness came over 
 her for this Yann of her choice, damped by a feeling 
 of hopelessness. Nay, he would never be hers ! How 
 could she tear him from the sea where so many other 
 Gaoses had gone down, ancestors and brothers, who 
 must have loved the sea like he ! She entered the 
 chapel. It was almost dark, badly lit by low windows 
 with heavy frames. And there, her heart full of tears 
 which had better have fallen, she knelt to pray before 
 the colossal saints, surrounded by common flowers, 
 touching the vaulted roof with their massive heads. 
 Outside, the rising wind began to sob as if it brought 
 the death«gasps of the drowned men back to their 
 Fatherland. > 
 
 Night drew near; she rose and went on her way. 
 After having asked in the village, she found the home 
 of the Gaos family, which was built up against a high 
 cliff. A dozen granite steps led up to it. Trembling 
 a little at the thought that Yann might have returned, 
 she crossed the small garden where chrysanthemums 
 and veronicas grew. 
 
OF SINISTER PORTENT. 
 
 S3 
 
 When she was indoors, she explained she had come 
 to bring the money for the boat, and they asked her to 
 sit down very politely, to await the fathers return, as 
 he was the one to sign the receipt for her. Amidst 
 all, her eyes searched for Yann — but did not see him. 
 
 They were very busy in the home. Already they 
 were cutting out the new waterproof cloth on the clean 
 white table, and getting it ready for the approaching 
 Iceland season. 
 
 “ You see, Mademoiselle Gaud, it’s like this : every 
 man wants two new suits.” 
 
 They explained to her how they set to work to make 
 them, and render their seams waterproof with tar, for 
 they were for wet weather wear. And while they 
 worked, Gaud looked attentively round the home of 
 these Gaoses. 
 
 It was furnished after the traditional manner of all 
 Breton cottages ; an immense chimney-place took up 
 one whole end, and on the sides of the walls the Breton 
 beds, bunks, as on shipboard, were placed one above 
 another. But it was not so sombre and sad as the 
 cabins of other peasants, which are generally half- 
 hidden by the wayside ; it was all fresh and clean, as 
 the homes of seamen generally are. Several little 
 Gaoses were there, girls and boys, all sisters and 
 
84 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN . 
 
 brothers of Yann ; without counting two big ones, who 
 were already out at sea. And, besides, there was a 
 little fair girl, neat, but sad, unlike the others. 
 
 “We adopted her last year,” explained the mother; 
 “ we had enough children as it was, of course, but what 
 else could we do, Mademoiselle Gaud, for her daddy 
 belonged to the Maria- Dim-1? ctime, lost last season off 
 Iceland, as you know ; so the neighbours divided the 
 little ones between them, and this one fell to our lot.” 
 
 Hearing herself spoken of, the adopted child hung 
 her pretty head and smiled, hiding herself behind little 
 Laumec Gaos, her favourite. 
 
 There was a look of comfort all over the place, and 
 radiant health bloomed on all the children’s rosy cheeks. 
 
 They received Gaud very profusely, like a great lady 
 whose visit was an honour to the family. She was 
 taken upstairs, up a newly-built wooden staircase, to 
 see the room above, which was the glory of the home. 
 She remembered the history of its construction ; it was 
 alter the finding of a derelict vessel in the Channel, 
 which luck had befallen Yann’s father and his cousin 
 the pilot. 
 
 The room was very gay and pretty in its whiteness ; 
 there were two town beds in it, with pink chintz cur- 
 tains, and a large table in the middle. Through the 
 
OF SINISTER PORTENT . 
 
 35 
 
 window the whole of Paimpol could be seen, with the 
 Icelanders at anchor off shore, and the channel through 
 which they passed. 
 
 She did not dare question, but she would have liked 
 to know where Yann slept ; probably as a child he 
 had slept downstairs in one of the antique cupboard- 
 beds. But perhaps, now he slept under those pink 
 draperies. She would have loved to know all the 
 details of his life, especially what he did in the long 
 winter evenings. 
 
 A heavy footstep on the stairs made her tremble. 
 But it was not Yann, though a man much like him ; 
 notwithstanding his white hair, as tall and as straight. 
 It was old father Gaos returning from fishing. 
 
 After he had saluted her and asked her the object of 
 her visit, he signed her receipt for her, which was 
 rather a long operation, as his hand was not very steady, 
 he explained. 
 
 But he would not accept the hundred francs as a final 
 payment, but only as an instalment ; he would speak 
 to M. Mevel again about it. Whereupon Gaud, to 
 whom money was nothing, smiled imperceptibly ; she 
 had fancied the business was not quite terminated, and 
 this just suited her. 
 
 They made something like excuses for Yann’s ab- 
 
86 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 sence ; as if they found it more orthodox for the whole 
 family to assemble to receive her. Perhaps the father 
 had guessed, with the shrewdness of an old salt, that 
 his son was not indifferent to this beautiful heiress ; 
 for he rather insisted upon talking about him. 
 
 “ It’s very queer,” said he, “ the boy’s never so late 
 out. He went over to Loguivy, Mademoiselle Gaud, 
 to buy some lobster baskets; as you know, lobster- 
 catching is our main winter fishery.” 
 
 She dreamily lengthened out her call, although con- 
 scious that it was too long already, and feeling a tug at 
 her heart at the idea that she would not see him after all. 
 
 “ A well-conducted young man like Yann — what can 
 he be doing? Surely he’s not at the inn. We don’t 
 fear that for our lad. I don’t say, that now and then, of 
 
 a Sunday, with his mates You know, Mademoiselle 
 
 Gaud, what them sailors are. Eh ! ye know, he’s but 
 a young chap, and must have some liberty now and 
 again. But it’s very rare with him to break out, for 
 he’s a straight-goer ; we can say that.” 
 
 But night was falling, and the work had been folded 
 up. The little ones on the benches around drew closer 
 to one another, saddened by the grey dismal gloaming, 
 and eyed Gaud hard, seeming to say — 
 
 “ Why doesn’t she go now ? ” 
 
OF SINISTER PORTENT. 
 
 87 
 
 On the hearth, the flames burnt redder in the midst 
 of the falling shadows. 
 
 “ You ought to stay and have a bit o’ supper with 
 us, Mademoiselle Gaud.” 
 
 “Oh no! she couldn’t think of it!” The blood 
 rushed to her face at the idea of having remained so 
 late. She got up and took her leave. 
 
 Yann’s father also rose to accompany her part of the 
 way, anyhow as far as a lonely nook where the old 
 trees make a dark lane. 
 
 As they walked along together, she felt a sudden 
 sympathy of respect and tenderness towards him ; she 
 would have liked to have spoken as to a father in the 
 sudden gushes of feeling which came over her ; but the 
 words were stifled in her throat, and she said not a 
 word. 
 
 And so they went their way, in the cold evening 
 wind, full of the odour of the sea, passing here and 
 there, on the barren heath, some poor hovels, where 
 beach-combers dwelt and had already sealed themselves 
 up for the night ; dark and neglected they looked under 
 the weather-beaten roofs ; these crosses, clumps of reeds, 
 and boulders they left behind. 
 
 What a great way off Pors-Even was, and what a 
 time she had remained ! 
 
88 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 Now and then they met folks returning from Paim- 
 pol or Loguiyy; and as she watched the shadows 
 approach, each time she thought it was Yann ; but it 
 was easy to recognise him at a good distance off, and 
 so she was quickly undeceived. Every moment her 
 feet caught in the brown trailing plants, tangled like 
 hair, which were seaweeds littering the pathway. 
 
 At the Cross of Plouezoc’h she bade good-bye to the 
 old man, and begged him to return. The lights of 
 Paimpol were already in view, and there was no more 
 occasion to be afraid. 
 
 So hope was over for this time. Who could tell her 
 when she might see Yann again ? 
 
 An excuse to return to Pors-Even would have been 
 easy; but it would really look too bad to begin her 
 quest all over again. She would have to be braver and 
 prouder than that. If only her little confidant Sylvestre 
 had been there, she might have asked him to go and 
 fetch Yann, so that there could be some explanation. 
 But he was gone now, and for how many years ? 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 HIS RELUCTANCE. 
 
 “Me get married?” said Yann to his parents that 
 same evening. “ Me get married ? Good heavens, why 
 should I ? Shall I ever be as happy as here with ye ? 
 no troubles, no tiffs with any one, and warm soup ready 
 for me every night when I come home from sea. Oh ! 
 I quite understand that you mean the girl that came 
 here to-day, but what’s such a rich girl got to do with 
 us? ’Tisn’t clear, to my thinking. And it’ll be 
 neither her, nor any other. It’s all settled, I won’t 
 marry — it ain’t to my liking.” 
 
 The two old Gaoses looked at one another in silence, 
 deeply disappointed, for, after having talked it over 
 together, they were pretty well sure that this young 
 lady would not refuse their handsome Yann. But they 
 did not try to argue, knowing how useless that would 
 be. The mother lowered her head, and said no more ; 
 she respected the will of this son, her eldest born, who 
 was all but the head of the family ; although he was 
 always tender and gentle with her, more obedient than 
 a child in the petty things of life, he had long ago been 
 her absolute master for the great ones, eluding all 
 
9 o 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 restraint with, a quiet though savage independence. 
 He never sat up late, being in the habit, like other 
 fishermen, of rising before break of day. And after 
 supper at eight o’clock, he had given another satis- 
 factory look to his baskets and new nets from Loguivy, 
 he began to undress — calm to all appearances, and 
 went up to sleep in the pink-curtained bed, which he 
 shared with his little brother Laumec. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SAILORS AT THE PLAY. 
 
 For the last fortnight Gaud’s little confidant, Sylvestre, 
 had been quartered in Brest ; very much out of his 
 element, but very quiet and obedient to discipline. He 
 wore his open blue sailor-collar and red-balled, flat, 
 woollen cap, with a frank, fearless look, and was noble 
 and dignified in his sailor garb, with his free step 
 and tall figure, but at the bottom of his heart he 
 was still the same innocent boy as ever, and thinking 
 of his dear old grandam. 
 
 One evening he had got tipsy together with some 
 lads from his parts, simply because it is the custom ; 
 
ORDERED ON FOREIGN SERVICE. 
 
 9i 
 
 and they had all returned to the barracks together 
 arm-in-arm, singing out as lustily as they could. 
 
 And one Sunday, too, they had all gone to the 
 theatre, in the upper galleries. A melodrama was 
 being played, and the sailors, exasperated against the 
 villain, greeted him with a howl, which they all roared 
 together, like a blast of the Atlantic cyclones. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ORDERED ON FOREIGN SERVICE. 
 
 One day, Sylvestre was summoned before the officer of 
 his company ; and they told him he was amongst those 
 ordered out to China — in the squadron" for Formosa. 
 He had been pretty well expecting it for some time, as 
 he had heard those who read the papers say that out 
 there the war seemed never-ending. 
 
 And because of the urgency of the departure, he was 
 informed at the same time that he would not be able 
 to have the customary leave for his home farewells ; in 
 five days’ time he would have to pack up and be off. 
 
 Then a bitter pain came over him ; though charmed 
 at the idea of far-off travels amid the unknown and 
 of the war. There also was agony at the thought 
 
92 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 of leaving all lie knew and : loved, witli the vague 
 apprehension that he might never more return. 
 
 A thousand noises rang in his head. Around was 
 the bustle of the barrack-rooms, where hundreds of 
 others were called up, like himself, chosen for the 
 Chinese squadron. And, rapidly, he wrote to his old 
 grandmother, with a stump of pencil, crouching on the 
 floor, alone in his own feverish dream, though in the 
 thick of the continual hurry and hubbub amidst all the 
 young sailors hurried away like himself. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 moan’s sweetheart. 
 
 “ His sweetheart’s a trifle old ! ” said the others, a 
 couple of days later, as they laughed after Sylvestre 
 and his grandmother, “ but they seem to get on fine 
 together all the same.” 
 
 It amused them to see the boy, for the first time, 
 walk through the streets of Recouvrance, with a woman 
 at his side, like the rest of them ; and, bending towards 
 her with a tender look, whisper what seemed to be very 
 soft nothings. 
 
 She was a very quick diminutive person seen from 
 
MOAN’S SWEETHEART. 
 
 93 
 
 behind, with rather short skirts for the fashion of the 
 day ; and a scanty brown shawl, and a high Paimpol 
 coiffe. She, too, hanging on his arm, turned towards 
 him with an affectionate glance. 
 
 “ A trifle old was his sweetheart ! ” 
 
 That’s what the others called after him, we say, but 
 without spite, for any one could see that she was his 
 old granny, come up from the country. She had come, 
 too, in a hurry, suddenly terrified at the news of his 
 sudden departure ; for this Chinese war had already 
 cost Paimpol many sailors. So she had scraped together 
 all her poor little savings, put her best Sunday dress 
 and a fresh clean coiffe in a box, and had started to 
 kiss him once again. 
 
 She had gone straight to the barracks to ask for him ; 
 at first his adjutant had refused to let him go out. 
 
 “ If you’ve anything to say, my good woman, go and 
 speak to the captain yourself. There he is, passing.” 
 
 So she calmly walked up to him, and he allowed 
 himself to be won over. 
 
 “ Send Moan to change his clothes, to go out,” 
 said he. 
 
 All in hot haste Moan had gone to rig up in his 
 best attire, while the good old lady, tQ make him 
 laugh, of course, made a most inimitably droll face 
 
94 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 and a mock curtsey at the adjutant behind his 
 back. 
 
 But when the grandson appeared in his full uniform, 
 with the inevitable turned-down collar, leaving his 
 throat bare, she was quite struck with his beauty ; his 
 black beard was cut into a seamanly fashionable point 
 by the barber, and his cap was decked out with long 
 floating ribbons, with a golden anchor at each end. 
 For the moment she almost saw in him her son 
 Pierre, who, twenty years before, had also been a sailor 
 in the navy, and the remembrance of the far past, with 
 all its dead, stealthily shadowed the present hour. 
 
 But the sadness soon passed away. Arm-in-arm 
 they strolled on, happy to be together ; and it was then 
 that the others had pretended to see in her his sweet- 
 heart, and voted her u a trifle old.” 
 
 She had taken him, for a treat, to dine in an inn 
 kept by some people from Paimpol, which had been 
 recommended to her as rather cheap. And then, still 
 arm-in-arm, they had sauntered through Brest, looking 
 at the shop-windows. There never were such funny 
 stories as those she told her grandson to make him 
 laugh ; of course all in Paimpol Breton, so that the 
 passers-by might not understand. 
 
CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 OLD AND YOUNG. 
 
 She stayed three days with him, three happy days, 
 though over them hung a dark and ominous forecast ; 
 one might as well call them three days of respite. 
 
 At last she was forced to return to Ploubazlanec, for 
 she had come to the end of her little sayings, and 
 Sylvestre was to embark the day after. The sailors 
 are always inexorably kept in barracks the day before 
 foreign cruises (a custom which seems rather bar- 
 barous at first, but which is a necessary precaution 
 against the “ flings” they would have before leaving 
 definitely). 
 
 Oh, that last day ! She had done her very best to 
 hatch up some more funny stories in her head, to tell 
 her boy just at the parting, but she had remembered 
 nothing — no ; only tears had welled up, and at every 
 moment sobs choked her. Hanging on his arm, she 
 reminded him of a thousand things he was not to 
 forget to do, and he also tried hard to repress his 
 tears. They had ended by going into a church to say 
 their prayers together. 
 
 It was by the night train that she went. To save 
 
96 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 a few pence, they had gone on foot to the station ; 
 he carrying her box, and holding her on his strong 
 arm, upon which she weighed heavily. 
 
 She was so very, very tired — poor old lady ! She 
 had scarcely any strength left after the exertion of 
 the last three or four days. Her shoulders were bent 
 under her brown shawl, and she had no force to bear 
 herself up ; her youngish look was gone, and she felt 
 the weight of her seventy- six years. 
 
 Oh ! how her heart ached at' the thought that it was 
 all over, and that in a few moments she must leave 
 him ! Was he really to go out so far, to China, per- 
 haps to slaughter. She still had him there with her, 
 quite close, her poor hands could yet grasp him, — 
 and yet he must go ; all the strength of her will, all 
 her tears, and all her great heartrending despair — all ! 
 would nothing be of avail to keep him back ? 
 
 With her ticket, and her lunch-basket, and her 
 mittens in her grasp, agitated, she gave him her last 
 blessing and advice, and he answered her with an 
 obedient “ Ay, ay,” bending his head tenderly towards 
 her and gazing lovingly at her, in his soft childish way. 
 
 “ Now then, old lady, you must make up your mind 
 plaguey quick if you want to go by this train ! ” 
 
 The engine whistled. Suddenly terrified at the idea 
 
OLD AND YOUNG. 
 
 97 
 
 of losing the train, she tore her box from Sylvestre’s 
 grasp, and flinging it down, threw her arms round his 
 neck in a last and supreme embrace. 
 
 Many people on the platform stared at them, but not 
 one smiled. Hustled about by the porters, worn out and 
 full of pain, she pressed into the first carriage near ; the 
 door was banged quickly upon her, while Sylvestre, 
 with all the speed of a young sailor, rushed out of the 
 station to the rails beside the line to see the train pass. 
 
 A shrill screeching whistle, a noisy grinding of the 
 wheels, and his grandmother passed away, leaving him 
 leaning against the gate and swinging up his cap with 
 its flying ribbons, while she, hanging out of the window 
 of her third-class carriage, made an answering signal 
 with her handkerchief ; and for as long as she could see 
 the dark blue-clad figure which was her child, followed 
 him with her eyes, throwing her whole soul into that 
 “ good-bye ! ” kept back to the last, and always uncer- 
 tain of realisation when sailors are concerned. 
 
 Look long at your little Sylvestre, poor old woman ; 
 until the very latest moment, do not lose sight of his 
 fleeting shadow, which is fading away for ever. 
 
 When she could see him no longer, she fell back, 
 completely crushing her still clean unrumpled cap, 
 weeping and sobbing in the agony of death itself. 
 
 Gr 
 
9 8 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 He had turned away slowly, with his head bent, and 
 big tears falling down his cheeks. The autumn night 
 had closed in ; everywhere the gas was flaring, and the 
 sailors’ riotous feasts had begun anew. Paying no heed 
 to anything about him, he passed through Brest and 
 over the Recouvrance Bridge, to the barracks. 
 
 “ Whist ! here, you darling boy ! ” called out some noc- 
 turnal prowlers to him ; but he passed on, and entering 
 the barracks, flung himself down in his hammock, 
 weeping, all alone, and hardly sleeping until dawn. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE EASTERN VOYAGE. 
 
 Sylvestre was soon out on the ocean, rapidly whisked 
 away over the unknown seas, far more blue than 
 Iceland’s. 
 
 The ship which carried him off to the confines of Asia, 
 was ordered to go at full speed and stop nowhere. Ere 
 long he felt that he was far away, for the speed was 
 unceasing, and even without a care for the sea or the 
 wind. As he was a topman, he lived perched aloft, like 
 a bird, avoiding the soldiers crowded upon the deck. 
 
 Twice they stopped, however, on the coast of Tunis, 
 to take up more Zouaves and mules; from afar he 
 had perceived the white cities amid sands and arid 
 
THE EASTERN VOYAGE. 
 
 99 
 
 hills. He had even come down from his top to look at 
 the dark-brown men draped in their white robes who 
 came off in small boats to peddle fruit ; his mates told 
 him that these were Bedouins. 
 
 The heat and the sun, which were unlessened by the 
 autumn season, made him feel out of his element. 
 
 One day they touched at Port Said. All the flags of 
 Europe waved overhead from long staves, which gave 
 it an aspect of Babel on a feast-day, and the glistening 
 sands surrounded the town like a moving sea. 
 
 They had stopped there, touching the quays, almost 
 in the midst of the long streets full of wooden shanties. 
 Since his departure, Sylvestre had never seen the out- 
 side world so close, and the movement and numbers of 
 boats excited and amused him. 
 
 With never-ending screeching from their escape- 
 pipes, all these boats crowded up in the long canal, as 
 narrow as a ditch, which wound itself in a silvery line 
 through the infinite sands. From his post on high he 
 could see them as in a procession under a window, till 
 disappearing in the plain. 
 
 On the canal-path all kinds of costumes could be 
 seen ; men in many-coloured attire, busy and shouting 
 like thunder to their shooting through on the transit. 
 And at night the clamour of confused bands of music 
 
IOO 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 mingled with the diabolical screams of the locomotives, 
 playing noisy tunes, as if to drown the heart-breaking 
 sorrow of the exiles who for ever passed onwards. 
 
 The next day, at sunrise, they, too, glided into the 
 narrow ribbon of water between the sands. 
 
 For two days the steaming in the long file through 
 the desert lasted, then another sea opened before them, 
 and they were once again upon the open. They still 
 ran at full speed through this warmer expanse, stained 
 like red marble, with their boiling wake like blood. 
 Sylvestre remained all the time up in his top, where he 
 would hum his old song of “ Jean-Fran^ois de Nantes,” 
 to remind him of his dear brother Yann, of Iceland, 
 and the good old bygone days. 
 
 Sometimes, in the depths of the shadowy distance, 
 some wonderfully tinted mountain would arise. Not- 
 withstanding the distance and the dimness around, 
 the names of those projected capes of countries 
 appeared as the eternal landmarks on the great 
 roadways of the earth to the steersmen of this vessel . 
 but a topman is carried on like an inanimate thing, 
 knowing nothing, and unconscious of the distance over 
 the everlasting, endless waves. 
 
 All he felt was a terrible estrangement from the 
 things of this world, which grew greater and greater ; 
 
THE EASTERN VOYAGE. 
 
 IOI 
 
 and the feeling was very defined and exact as he looked 
 upon the seething foam behind, and tried to remember 
 how long had lasted this pace that never slackened night 
 or day. Down on deck, the crowd of men, huddled 
 together in the shadow of the awnings, panted with 
 weariness. The water and the air, even the very light 
 above, had a dull, crushing splendour ; and the fadeless 
 glory of those elements were as a very mockery of the 
 human beings whose physical lives are so ephemeral. 
 
 Once, up in his crow’s nest, he was gladdened by the 
 sight of flocks of tiny birds, of an unknown species, 
 which fell upon the ship like a whirlwind of coal dust. 
 They allowed themselves to be taken and stroked, being 
 worn-out with fatigue. All the sailors had them as 
 pets upon their shoulders. But soon the most ex- 
 hausted among them began to die, and before long they 
 died by thousands on the rigging, yards, ports, and sails, 
 poor little things, under the blasting sun of the Red 
 Sea. They had come to destruction, off the Great 
 Desert, fleeing before a sand-storm. And through fear 
 of falling into the blue waters which stretched on all 
 sides, they had ended their last feeble flight upon the 
 passing ship. Over yonder, in some distant region of 
 Lybia, they had been fledged in masses. Indeed, there 
 were so many of them, that their blind and unkind 
 
102 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 mother, Nature, had driven away before her this sur- 
 plus, as unmoved as if they had been superabundant men. 
 On the scorching funnels and ironwork of the ship 
 they died away ; the deck was strewn with their puny 
 forms, only yesterday so full of life, songs, and love. 
 Now, poor little black dots, Sylvestre and the others 
 picked them up, spreading out their delicate blue 
 wings, with a look of pity, and swept them overboard 
 into the abysmal sea. 
 
 Next came hosts of locusts, the spawn of those con- 
 jured up by Moses, and the ship was covered with them. 
 At length, though, it surged on in a lifeless blue sea, 
 where they saw no things around them, except from time 
 to time the flying fish skimming along the level water. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE ORIENT. 
 
 Rain in torrents, under a heavy black sky. This was 
 India. Sylvestre had just set foot upon land, chance 
 selecting him to complete the crew of a whale boat. 
 He felt the warm shower upon him through the thick 
 foliage, and looked around, surprised at the novel sight. 
 All was magnificently green ; the leaves of the trees 
 waved like gigantic feathers, and the people walking be- 
 
THE ORIENT . 
 
 103 
 
 neatli them had large velvety eyes, which seemed to close 
 under the weight of their lashes. The very wind which 
 brought the rain had the odour of musk and flowers. 
 
 At a distance, dusky girls beckoned him to go to 
 to them. Some harpy strain they sang, like the 
 u Whist ! here, you darling boy ! ” so often heard at 
 Brest. But seductive as was their country, their call 
 was imperious and exasperating, making his very flesh 
 shudder. Their perfect bosoms rose and fell under 
 transparent muslin, in which they were solely draped ; 
 they were glowing and polished as in bronze statues. 
 Hesitating, fascinated by them, he wavered about, 
 following them ; but the boatswain’s sharp shrill 
 whistle rent the air with bird-like trills, summoning 
 him hurriedly back to his boat, about to push off. 
 
 He took his flight, and bade farewell to India’s 
 beauties. 
 
 After a second week of the blue sea, they paused off 
 another land of dewy verdure. A crowd of yellow men 
 appeared, yelling out and pressing on deck, bringing 
 coal in baskets. 
 
 “ Already in China ? ” asked Sylvestre, at the sight 
 of these grotesque figures in pigtails. 
 
 “ Bless you, no, not yet,” they told him ; u have a 
 little more patience.” 
 
104 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN . 
 
 It was only Singapore. He went np into his mast- 
 top again, to avoid the black dust tossed about by the 
 breeze, whilst the coal was feverishly heaped up in the 
 bunkers from little baskets. 
 
 One day, at length, they arrived off a land called 
 Tourane, where the Circe was anchored, to blockade the 
 port. This was the ship to which Sylvestre had been 
 long ago assigned, and he was left there with his bag. 
 
 On board he met with two mates from home, Ice- 
 landers, who were captains of guns for the time being. 
 Through the long, hot, still evenings, when there was 
 no work to be done, they clustered on deck apart from 
 the others, to form together a little Brittany of remem- 
 brances. 
 
 Five months he passed there in inaction and exile, 
 locked up in the cheerless bay, with the feverish desire 
 to go out and fight and slay, for change’s sake. 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 A CURIOUS RENCONTRE. 
 
 In Paimpol again, on the last day of February, before 
 the setting-out for Iceland. Gaud was standing up 
 against her room door, pale and still. For Yann was 
 
A CURIOUS RENCONTRE. 
 
 105 
 
 below, chatting to her father. She had seen him come 
 in, and indistinctly heard his voice. 
 
 All through the winter they had never met, as if 
 some invincible fate had always kept them apart. 
 
 After the failure to find him in her walk to Pors-Even, 
 she had placed some hope on the Pardon des Islandais , 
 where there would be many chances for them to see 
 and talk to one another, in the market-place at dusk, 
 among the crowd. 
 
 But on the very morning of the holiday, though the 
 streets were already draped in white and strewn with 
 green garlands, a hard rain had fallen in torrents, 
 brought from the west by a soughing wind ; never had 
 so black a sky shadowed Paimpol. “ What a pity ! 
 the boys won’t come over from Ploubazlanec now,” had 
 moaned the lasses, whose sweethearts dwelt there. And 
 they did not come, or else had gone straight into the 
 taverns to drink together. 
 
 There had been no processions or strolls, and she, 
 with her heart aching more than ever, had remained at 
 her window the whole evening listening to the water 
 streaming over the roofs, and the fishers’ noisy songs 
 rising and falling out of the depths of the taverns. 
 
 For the last few days she had been expecting this 
 visit, surmising truly that old Gaos would send his son 
 
io6 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 to terminate the business concerning the sale of the 
 boat, as he did not care to come into Paimpol himself. 
 She determined then that she would go straight to him, 
 and, unlike other girls, speak out frankly, to have her 
 conscience clear on the subject. She would reproach 
 him with haying sought her out and having abandoned 
 her like a man without honour. If it were only stubborn- 
 ness, timidity, his great love for his sailor-life, or simply 
 the fear of a refusal, as Sylvestre hinted, why, all 
 these objections would disappear, after a frank, fair 
 understanding between them. His fond smile might 
 return, which had charmed and won her the winter 
 before, and all would be settled. This hope gave her 
 strength and courage, and sweetened her impatience. 
 
 From afar, things always appear so easy and simple 
 to say and to do. 
 
 This visit of Yann’s fell by chance at a convenient 
 hour. She was sure that her father, who was sitting 
 and smoking, would not get up to walk part of the 
 way with him; so in the empty passage she might 
 have her explanation out with him. 
 
 But now that the time had come, such boldness 
 seemed extreme. The bare idea of meeting him face 
 to face at the foot of those stairs, made her tremble ; and 
 her heart beat as if it would break. 
 
A CURIOUS RENCONTRE. 
 
 io 7 
 
 At any moment the door below might open, with 
 the squeak she knew so well, to let him out ! 
 
 “No, no, she would never dare; rather would she 
 die of longing and sorrow, than attempt such an act.” 
 She already made a few return steps towards the 
 back of her room, to regain her seal and work. But 
 she stopped again, hesitating and afeard, remembering 
 that to-morrow was the sailing day for Iceland, and 
 that this occasion stood alone. If she let it slip by, 
 she would have to wait through months upon months of 
 solitude and despair, languishing for his return — losing 
 another whole summer of her life. 
 
 Below, the door opened — Yann was coming out ! 
 
 Suddenly resolute, she rushed downstairs, and 
 tremblingly stood before him. 
 
 “ Monsieur Yann, I — I wish to speak to you, please.” 
 
 “ To me, Mademoiselle Gaud? ” queried he, lowering 
 his voice and snatching off his hat. 
 
 He looked at her fiercely, with a hard expression in 
 his flashing eyes, and his head thrown back, seeming 
 even to wonder if he ought to stop for her at all. 
 With one foot ready to start away, he stood straight 
 up against the wall, as if to be as far apart from her 
 as possible, in the narrow passage, where he felt im- 
 prisoned. 
 
io8 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 Paralysed, slie could remember nothing of what she 
 bad wished to say ; she had not thought he would try 
 and pass on without listening to her. What an affront ! 
 
 “ Does our house frighten you, Monsieur Yann ? ” 
 she asked, in a dry, odd tone, — not at all the one she 
 wished to use. 
 
 He turned his eyes away, looking outside ; his cheeks 
 blazed red, a rush of blood burned all his face, and his 
 quivering nostrils dilated with every breath, keeping 
 time with the heavings of his chest, like a young 
 bull’s. 
 
 “ The night of the ball,” she tried to continue, “ when 
 we were together, you bade me good-bye, not as a man 
 speaks to an indifferent person. Monsieur Yann, have 
 you no memory ? What have I done to vex you ? ” 
 
 The nasty western breeze blowing in from the street 
 ruffled his hair and the frills of Gaud’s coiffe , and be- 
 hind them a door was banged furiously. The passage 
 was not meet for talking of serious matters in. After 
 these first phrases, choking, Gaud remained speechless, 
 feeling her head spin, and without ideas. They still ad- 
 vanced towards the street door ; he seemed so anxious 
 to get away, and she was so determined not to be 
 shaken off. 
 
 Outside the wind blew noisily and the sky was black. 
 
A CURIOUS RENCONTRE. 
 
 109 
 
 A sad livid light fell upon their faces through the open 
 door. And an opposite neighbour looked at them: 
 what could the pair be saying to one another in that 
 passage together, looking so troubled ? What was 
 wrong over at the Mevels ? 
 
 “ Nay, Mademoiselle Gaud,” he answered at last, 
 turning away with the powerful grace of a young lion, 
 
 “ I’ve heard folks talk about us quite enough already ! 
 Nay, Mademoiselle Gaud, for, you see, you are rich, and 
 we are not people of the same class. I am not the 
 fellow to come after a c swell ’ lady.” 
 
 He went forth on his way. So now all was over 
 for ever and ever. She had not even said what she 
 wished in that interview, which had only made her seem 
 a very bold girl in his sight. What kind of a fellow 
 was this Yann, with his contempt for women, his scorn 
 for money, and all desirable things ? 
 
 At first she remained fixed to the spot, sick with 
 giddiness, as things swam around her. One intolerably 
 painful thought suddenly struck her like a flash of 
 lightning — Yann’s comrades, the Icelanders, were 
 waiting for him below in the market-place. What if 
 he were to tell them this as a good joke — what a still * 
 more odious affront upon her ! She quickly returned to 
 her room to watch them through her window-curtains. 
 
I IO 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 Before the house, indeed, she saw the men assembled, 
 but they were simply contemplating the weather, which 
 was becoming worse and worse, and discussed the 
 threatening rain. 
 
 “ It’ll only be a shower. Let’s go in and drink away 
 the time, till it passes.” 
 
 They poked jokes and laughed loudly over Jeannie 
 Caroff and other beauties ; but not even one of them 
 looked up at her window. They were all joyful, 
 except Yann, who said nothing, and remained grave 
 and sad. He did not go in to drink with them ; and 
 without noticing either them or the rain, which had 
 begun to fall, he slowly walked away under the shower, 
 as if absorbed in his thoughts, crossing the market-place 
 towards Ploubazlanec. 
 
 Then she forgave him all, and a feeling of hopeless 
 tenderness for him came, instead of the bitter dis- 
 appointment which had previously filled her heart. 
 She sat down and held her head between her hands. 
 What could she do now ? 
 
 Oh ! if he had only listened a moment to her, or if 
 he could come in that room, where they might speak 
 ' together alone, perhaps all might yet be arranged. 
 She loved him enough to tell him so to his face. She 
 
A CURIOUS RENCONTRE. 
 
 ii 
 
 would say to him : “ You sought me out when I asked 
 you for nothing; now I am yours with my whole 
 soul, if you will have me. I don’t mind a bit being 
 the wife of a fisherman, and yet, if I liked, I need but 
 choose amongst all the young men of Paimpol ; but I 
 do love you, because, notwithstanding all, I believe 
 you to be better than others. I’m tolerably well-to- 
 do, and I know I am pretty; although I have lived 
 in towns, I am sure that I am not a spoilt girl, as I 
 have never done anything wrong ; then, if I love you 
 so, why shouldn’t you take me ? ” 
 
 But all this would never be said except in dreams ; 
 it was too late ! Yann would not hear her. Try and 
 talk to him a second time ? Oh, no ! what kind of a 
 creature would he take her then to be ? She would 
 rather die. 
 
 Yet to-morrow they would all start for Iceland. 
 The whitish February daylight streamed into her fine 
 room. Chill and lonely she fell upon one of the chairs 
 along the wall. 
 
 It seemed to her as though the whole world were 
 crashing and falling in around her. All things past 
 and present were as if buried in a fearful abyss, which 
 yawned on all sides of her. 
 
 She wished her life would end, and that she were 
 
1 1 2 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 lying calm beneath some cold tombstone, where no 
 more pain might touch her. 
 
 But she had sincerely forgiven him, and no hatred 
 mingled with her desperate love. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 STRIKING THE ROCK UNKNOWN. 
 
 The sea, the grey sea once more, where Yann was 
 gently gliding along its broad, trackless road, which 
 leads the fishermen every year to the Land of Ice. 
 
 The day before, when they had all set off to the music 
 of the old hymns, there blew a brisk breeze from the 
 south, and all the ships with their outspread sails had 
 dispersed like so many gulls ; but that breeze had sud- 
 denly subsided, and speed had diminished ; great fog- 
 banks covered the watery surface. 
 
 Yann was perhaps quieter than usual. He said 
 that the weather was too calm, and appeared to excite 
 himself, as if he would drive away some care which 
 weighed upon him. But he had nothing to do but be 
 carried serenely in the midst of serene things ; only to 
 breathe and let himself live. On looking out, only the 
 
STRIKING THE ROCK UNKNOWN. 
 
 ii 3 
 
 deep grey masses around could be seen ; on listening, 
 only silence. 
 
 Suddenly there was an almost imperceptible rumb- 
 ling, which came from below, accompanied by a grind- 
 ing sensation, as when a brake comes hard down on 
 carriage wheels. The Marie ceased all movement. 
 They had struck. Where, and on what ? Some bank 
 off the English coast probably. For since overnight 
 they had been able to see nothing, with those curtains 
 of mist. 
 
 The men ran and rushed about, their bustle contrast- 
 ing strongly with the sudden rigidity of their ship. 
 How had the Marie come to a stop in that spot ? In the 
 midst of that immensity of fluid in this dull weather, 
 seeming to be almost without consistence, she had been 
 seized by some resistless immovable power hidden be- 
 neath the waves ; she was tight in its grasp, and might 
 perish there. 
 
 Who has not seen poor birds caught by their feet 
 in the lime ? At first they can hardly believe they are 
 caught ; it changes nothing in their aspect ; but they 
 soon are sure that they are held fast, and in danger of 
 never getting free again. And when they struggle to 
 get free, and the sticky stuff soils their wings and heads, 
 they gradually assume that pitiful look of a dumb 
 
AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 114 
 
 creature in distress, about to die. Such was the case 
 with the Marie. At first it did not seem much to con- 
 cern about ; she certainly was careened a little on one 
 side, but it was broad morning, and the weather was 
 fair and. calm ; one had to know such things by experi- 
 ence to become uneasy, and understand that it was a 
 serious matter. 
 
 The captain was to be pitied. It was his fault, as 
 he had not understood exactly where they were. He 
 wrung his hands, saying — 
 
 u God help us ! God help us ! ” in a voice of despair. 
 
 Close to them, during a lifting of the fog, they could 
 distinguish a headland, but not recognise it. But the 
 mists covered it anew, and they saw it no longer. 
 
 There was no sail or smoke in sight. They all jostled 
 about, hurrying and knocking the deck lumber over. 
 Their dog Turc, who did not usually mind the move- 
 ment of the sea, was greatly affected too by this incident, 
 these sounds from down below, these heavy wallowings 
 when the low swell passed under, and the sudden calm 
 which afterwards followed ; he understood that all this 
 was unusual, and he hid himself away in corners, with 
 his tail between his legs. They got out the boats to 
 carry the kedges and set them firm, and tried to row 
 her out of it by uniting all their forces together upon 
 
STRIKING THE ROCK UNKNOWN. 
 
 ii5 
 
 the tow-lines — a heavy piece of work this, which lasted 
 ten successive hours. So, when evening came, the 
 poor bark, which had only that morning been so fresh 
 and light, looked almost swamped, fouled, and good for 
 nothing. She had fought hard, floundered about on 
 all sides, but still remained there, fixed as in a dock. 
 
 Night was overtaking them ; the wind and the waves 
 were rising ; things were growing worse, when, all of 
 a sudden, towards six o’clock, they were let go clear, 
 and could be off again, tearing asunder the tow-lines, 
 which they had left to keep her head steady. The men 
 went rushing about like madmen, cheering from stem 
 to stern — “ We’re afloat, boys ! ” 
 
 They were afloat, with a joy that cannot be de- 
 scribed ; what it was to feel themselves going forwards 
 on a buoyant Graft again, instead of on the semi-wreck 
 it was before, none but a seaman feels, and few of them 
 can tell. 
 
 Yann’s sadness had disappeared too. Like his ship, 
 he became lively once more, cured by the healthy 
 manual labour ; he had found his reckless look again, 
 and had thrown off his glum thoughts. 
 
 Next morning, when the kedges were fished up, the 
 Marie went on her way to Iceland, and Yann’s heart, 
 to all appearance, was as free as in his early years. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 HOME NEWS. 
 
 The home letters were being distributed on board the 
 Circe , at anchor at Ha-Long, over on the other side of 
 the earth. In the midst of a group of sailors, the 
 purser called out, in a loud voice, the names of the 
 fortunate men who had letters to receive. This went 
 on at evening, on the ship’s side, all crushing round a 
 funnel. 
 
 “ Moan, Sylvestre ! ” There was one for him, post- 
 marked “Paimpol,” but it was not Gaud’s writing. 
 What did that mean ? from whom did it come else ? 
 
 After having turned and flourished it about, he 
 opened it fearingly, and read — 
 
 “ Ploubazlanec, March 5 th, 1884. 
 
 a My dear Grandson ” 
 
 So, it was from his dear old granny. He breathed 
 free again. At the bottom of the letter she had even 
 placed her signature, learned by heart, but trembling 
 like a school-girl’s scribble — “ Widow Moan.” 
 
 “ Widow Moan ! ” With a quick spontaneous move- 
 ment he carried the paper to his lips and kissed the 
 
HOME NEWS. 
 
 ii 7 
 
 poor name, as a sacred relic. For this letter arrived at 
 a critical moment of his life ; to-morrow at dawn, he 
 was to set out for the battle-field. 
 
 It was in the middle of April ; Bac-Ninh and Hong- 
 Hoa had just been taken. There was no great warfare 
 going on in Tonquin, yet the reinforcements arriving 
 were not sufficient ; sailors were taken fronfall the ships 
 to make up the deficit in the corps already disembarked. 
 Sylvestre, who had languished so long in the midst of 
 cruises and blockades, had just been selected with some 
 others to fill up the vacancies. 
 
 It is true that now peace was spoken of, but some- 
 thing told them that they yet would disembark in 
 good time to fight a bit. They packed their bags, 
 made all their other preparations, and said good-bye, 
 and all the evening through they strolled about with 
 their unfortunate mates who had to remain, feeling 
 much grander and prouder than they. Each in his 
 own way showed his impression at this departure — 
 some were grave and serious, others exuberant and 
 talkative. 
 
 Sylvestre was very quiet and thoughtful, though 
 impatient; only, when they looked at him, his smile 
 seemed to say, “Yes, I’m one of the fighting party, 
 and huzza ! the action is for to-morrow morning ! ” 
 
n8 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 Of gunshots and battle he formed but an incomplete 
 idea as yet ; but they fascinated him, for he came of a 
 valiant race. 
 
 The strange writing of his letter made him anxious 
 about Gaud, and he drew near a porthole to read the 
 epistle through. It was difficult amidst all those half- 
 naked men pressing round, in the unbearable heat of 
 the gundeck. 
 
 As he thought she would do, in the beginning of 
 her letter Granny Moan explained why she had had 
 to take recourse to the inexperienced hand of an old 
 neighbour : 
 
 “My dear child, I don’t ask your cousin to write for 
 me to-day, as she is in great trouble. Her father died 
 suddenly two days ago. It appears that his whole 
 fortune has been lost through unlucky gambling last 
 winter in Paris. So his house and furniture will have 
 to be sold. Nobody in the place was expecting this. 
 
 ’ I think, dear child, that this will pain you as much as 
 it does me. 
 
 “ Gaos, the son, sends you his kind remembrance ; he 
 has renewed his articles with Captain Guermeur of the 
 Marie , and the departure for Iceland was 'rather early 
 this year, for they set sail on the first of the month, 
 
HOME NEWS. 
 
 119 
 
 two days before our poor Gaud’s trouble, and he don’t 
 know of it yet. 
 
 “ But you can easily imagine that we shall not get 
 them wed now, for she will be obliged to work for her 
 daily bread.” 
 
 Sylvestre dwelt stupor- stricken ; this bad news quite 
 spoilt his glee at going out to fight. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
PART III 
 
 IN THE SHADOW. 
 
PART III. 
 
 IN THE SHADOW. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE SKIRMISH. 
 
 Hark ! a bullet hurtles through the air ! 
 
 Sylvestre stops short to listen ! 
 
 He is upon an infinite meadow, green with the soft 
 velvet carpet of spring. The sky is grey, lowering, as 
 if to weigh upon one’s very shoulders. 
 
 They are six sailors reconnoitring among the fresh 
 rice-fields, in a muddy pathway. 
 
 Hist! again the whizz, breaking the silence of 
 the air — a shrill, continuous sound, a kind of prolonged 
 zing, giving one a strong impression that the pellets 
 buzzing by might have stung fatally. 
 
 For the first time in his life Sylvestre hears that 
 music. The bullets coming towards a man have a 
 different sound to those fired by himself : the far off 
 report is attenuated, or not heard at all, so it is easier 
 
124 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 to distinguish the sharp rush of metal as it swiftly 
 passes by, almost grazing one’s ears. 
 
 Crack ! whizz ! ping ! again and yet again ! The 
 balls fall in regular showers now. Close by the sailors 
 they stop short, and are buried in the flooded soil of 
 the rice-fields, accompanied by a faint splash, like hail 
 falling sharp and swift in a puddle of water. 
 
 The marines looked at one another as if it was all a 
 piece of odd fun, and said — 
 
 " Only John Chinaman ! pish ! ” 
 
 To the sailors, Annamites, Tonquinese, or “ Black 
 Flags” are all of the same Chinese family. It is 
 difficult to show their contempt and mocking rancour, 
 as well as eagerness for “ bowling over the beggars,” 
 when they speak of “ the Chinee.” 
 
 Two or three bullets are still flying about, more 
 closely grazing ; they can be seen bouncing like grass- 
 hoppers in the green. The slight shower of lead did 
 not last long. 
 
 Perfect silence returns to the broad verdant plain, 
 and nowhere can anything be seen moving. The same 
 six are still there, standing on the watch, scenting the 
 breeze, and trying to discover whence the volley came. 
 Surely from over yonder, by that clump of bamboos, 
 which looks like an island of feathers in the plain; 
 
THE SKIRMISH. 
 
 125 
 
 behind it several pointed roofs appear half hidden. So 
 they all made for it, their feet slipping or sinking into 
 the soaked soil. Sylvestre runs foremost, on his longer, 
 more nimble legs. 
 
 No more buzz of bullets ; they might have thought 
 they were dreaming. 
 
 As in all the countries of the world, some features 
 are the same ; the cloudy grey skies and the fresh tints 
 of fields in spring-time, for example ; one could imagine 
 this upon French meadows, and these young fellows, 
 running merrily over them, playing a very different 
 sport from this game of death. 
 
 But as they approach, the bamboos show the exotic 
 delicacy of their foliage, and the village roofs grow 
 sharper in the singularity of their curves, and yellow 
 men hidden behind advance to reconnoitre ; their flat 
 faces are contracted by fear and spitefulness. Then 
 suddenly they rush out screaming, and deploy into a 
 long line, trembling, but decided and dangerous. 
 
 “The Chinese!” shout the sailors again, with their 
 same brave smile. 
 
 But this time they find that there are a good many 
 — too many ; and one of them turning round perceives 
 other Chinese coming from behind, springing up from 
 the long tall grass. 
 
126 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 At this moment, young Sylvestre came out grand ; 
 his old granny would have been proud to see him such 
 a warrior. Since the last few days he had altered. 
 His face was bronzed, and his voice strengthened. He 
 was in his own element here. 
 
 In a moment of supreme indecision the sailors hit 
 by the bullets almost yielded to an impulse of retreat, 
 which would certainly have been death to them all ; 
 but Sylvestre continued to advance, clubbing his rifle, 
 and fighting a whole band, knocking them down 
 right and left with smashing blows from the butt-end. 
 Thanks to him the situation was reversed; that panic 
 or madness which blindly deceives all in these leader- 
 less skirmishes had now passed over to the Chinese 
 side, and it was they who began to retreat. 
 
 It was soon all over ; they were fairly taking to their 
 heels. The six sailors, reloading their repeating rifles, 
 shot them down easily ; upon the grass lay dead bodies 
 by red pools, and skulls were emptying their brains into 
 the river. 
 
 They fled, cowering low like leopards. Sylvestre 
 ran after them, although he had had two wounds — a 
 lance-thrust in the thigh and a deep gash in his arm ; 
 but feeling nothing save the intoxication of battle, that 
 unreasoning fever which comes of vigorous blood, gives 
 
THE SKIRMISH. 
 
 127 
 
 lofty courage to simple souls, and made the heroes of 
 antiquity. 
 
 One whom he was pursuing turned round, and 
 with a spasm of desperate terror took a deliberate 
 aim at him. Sylvestre stopped short, smiling scorn- 
 fully, sublime, to let him fire, and seeing the direction 
 of the aim, only shifted a little to the left. But with 
 the pressure upon the trigger the barrel of the Chinese 
 gingall deviated slightly in the same direction. He 
 suddenly felt a smart rap upon his breast, and in a 
 flash of thought understood what it was, even before 
 feeling any pain ; he turned towards the others follow- 
 ing, and tried to cry out to them the traditional phrase 
 of the old soldier, “ I think it’s all up with me ! ” In 
 the great breath which he inhaled after having run, to 
 refill his lungs with air, he felt that air rush in also by 
 a hole in his right breast, with a horrible gurgling, 
 like the blast in a broken bellows. In that same time 
 his mouth filled with blood, and a sharp pain shot 
 through his side, which rapidly grew worse, until it 
 became atrocious and unspeakable. He whirled round 
 two or three times, his brain swimming too ; and 
 gasping for breath through the rising red tide which 
 choked him, fell heavily in the mud. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 “out, brief candle!” 
 
 About a fortnight later, as the sky was darkening at 
 the approach of the rains, and the heat more heavily 
 weighed over yellow Tonquin, Sylvestre brought to 
 Hanoi', was sent to Ha-Long, and placed on board a 
 hospital-ship about to return to France. 
 
 He had been carried about for some time on different 
 stretchers, with intervals of rest at the ambulances. 
 They had done all they could for him ; but under 
 the insufficient conditions, his chest had filled with 
 water on the pierced side, and the gurgling air entered 
 through the wound, which would not close up. 
 
 He had received the military medal, which gave him 
 a moment’s joy. But he was no longer the warrior of 
 old — resolute of gait, and steady in his resounding voice. 
 All that had vanished before the long-suffering and 
 weakening fever. He had become a home-sick boy 
 again ; he hardly spoke except in answering occasional 
 questions, in a feeble and almost inaudible voice. To 
 feel oneself so sick and so far away ; to think that it 
 wanted so many days before he could reach home ! 
 Would he ever live until then, with his strength 
 
“OUT, BRIEF CANDLE /” 
 
 129 
 
 ebbing away? Such a terrifying feeling of distance 
 continually Haunted Him andweigHed at every wakening; 
 and when, after a few Hours’ stupor, He awoke from tke 
 sickening pain of His wounds, witH feverisH Heat and 
 tHe wHistling sound in His pierced bosom, He implored 
 tHem to put Him on board, in spite of everything. He 
 was very Heavy to carry into His ward, and without in- 
 tending it, they gave Him some cruel jolts on the way. 
 
 They laid Him on one of the iron camp bedsteads 
 placed in rows, Hospital fashion, and then He set out 
 in an inverse direction, on His long journey through 
 the seas. Instead of living like a bird in the full wind 
 of the tops, He remained below deck, in the midst of 
 the bad air of medicines, wounds, and misery. 
 
 During the first days the joy of being Homeward 
 bound made Him feel a little better. He could even 
 bear being propped up in bed with pillows, and at 
 times He asked for His box. His seaman’s chest was a 
 deal box, bought in Paimpol, to keep all His loved 
 treasures in; inside were letters from Granny Yvonne, 
 and also from Yann and Gaud, a copy-book into which 
 He Had copied some sea-songs, and one of the works 
 of Confucius in Chinese, caught up at random during 
 pillage : on the blank sides of its leaves He Had written 
 the simple account of his campaign. 
 
 I 
 
130 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 Nevertheless lie got no better, and after the first 
 week, the doctors decided that death was imminent. 
 They were near the Line now, in the stifling heat of 
 storms. The troop-ship kept on her conrse, shaking her 
 beds, the wounded and the dying ; quicker and quicker 
 she sped over the tossing sea, troubled still as during 
 the sway of the monsoons. 
 
 Since leaving Ha-long more than one patient died, 
 and was consigned to the deep water on the high road 
 to France; many of the narrow beds no longer bore 
 their suffering burdens. 
 
 Upon this particular day it was very gloomy in the 
 travelling hospital ; on account of the high seas it had 
 been necessary to close the iron port-lids, which made 
 the stifling sickroom more unbearable. Sylvestre was 
 worse; the end was nigh. Lying always upon his 
 wounded side, he pressed upon it with both hands with 
 all his remaining strength, to try and allay the watery 
 decomposition which rose in his right lung, and to 
 breathe with the other lung only. But by degrees the 
 other was affected and the ultimate agony had begun. 
 
 Dreams and visions of home haunted his brain ; in 
 the hot darkness, beloved or horrible faces bend over 
 him ; he was in a never-ending hallucination, through 
 which floated apparitions of Brittany and Iceland. In 
 
“ OUT, BRIEF CANDLE! 
 
 the morning was called in the priest, and the old man, 
 who was used to seeing sailors die, was astonished to 
 find so pure a soul in so strong and manly a body. 
 
 He cried out for air, air ! but there was none any- 
 where ; the ventilators no longer gave any ; the attendant, 
 who was fanning him with a Chinese fan, only moved 
 unhealthy vapours over him of sickening staleness, 
 which revolted all lungs. Sometimes fierce, desperate 
 fits came over him ; he wished to tear himself away 
 from that bed, where he felt death would come to seize 
 him, and rush above into the full fresh wind and try to 
 live again. Oh! to be like those others, scrambling 
 about among the rigging, and living among the masts. 
 But his extreme effort only ended in the feeble lifting 
 of his weakened head ; something like the incompleted 
 movement of a sleeper. He could not manage it, but 
 fell back in the hollow of his crumpled bed, partly 
 chained there by death ; and each time, after the fatigue 
 of a like shock, he lost all consciousness. 
 
 To please him they opened a port at last, although 
 it was dangerous, the sea being very rough. It was 
 going on for six in the evening. When the disc was 
 swung back, a red light entered, glorious and radiant. 
 The dying sun appeared upon the horizon in dazzling 
 splendour, through a torn rift in a gloomy sky; its 
 
132 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 blinding light glanced over the waves, and lit up the 
 floating hospital, like a waving torch. 
 
 But no air rushed in; the little there was outside, 
 was powerless to enter and drive before it the fevered 
 atmosphere. Over all sides of that boundless equatorial 
 sea, floated a warm and heavy moisture, unfit for 
 respiration. No air on any side, not even for the poor 
 gasping fellows on their deathbeds. 
 
 One vision disturbed him greatly; it was of his 
 old grandmother, walking quickly along a road, with a 
 heartrending look of alarm; from low-lying funereal 
 clouds above her, fell the drizzling rain ; she was on 
 her way to Paimpol, summoned thither to be informed 
 of his death. 
 
 He was struggling now, with the death-rattle in his 
 throat. From the corners of his mouth they sponged 
 away the water and blood, which had welled up in 
 quantities from his chest in writhing agony. Still the 
 grand glorious sun lit up all, like a conflagration of the 
 whole world, with blood-laden clouds ; through the 
 aperture of the port-hole, a wide streak of crimson 
 fire blazed in, and, spreading over Sylvestre’s bed, 
 formed a halo around him. 
 
 At that very moment that same sun was to be seen 
 
“OUT, BRIEF CANDLE!” 
 
 133 
 
 in Brittany, where midday was about to strike. It was, 
 indeed, the same sun, beheld at the precise moment of 
 its never-ending round ; but here it kept quite another 
 hue. Higher up in the bluish sky, it kept shedding a 
 soft white light on grandmother Yvonne, sitting out at 
 her door, sewing. 
 
 In Iceland, too, where it was morning, it was shining 
 at that same moment of death. Much paler there, it 
 seemed as if it only showed its face by some miracle. 
 Sadly it shed its rays over the fjord where La Marie 
 floated ; and now its sky was lit up by a pure northern 
 light, which always gives the idea of a frozen planet’s 
 reflection, without an atmosphere. With a cold 
 accuracy, it outlined all the essentials of that stony 
 chaos which is Iceland ; the whole of the country as 
 seen from La Marie seemed fixed in one same per- 
 spective and held upright. Yann was there, lit up by 
 a strange light, fishing, as usual, in the midst of this 
 lunar-like scenery. 
 
 As the beam of fiery flame which came through the 
 port-hole faded, and the sun disappeared completely 
 under the gilded billows, the eyes of the grandson 
 rolled inwards towards his brow as if to fall back into 
 his head. 
 
134 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 They closed his eyelids with their own long lashes, 
 and Sylvestre became calm and beautiful again, like a 
 reclining marble statue of manly repose. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE GRAVE ABROAD. 
 
 I cannot refrain from telling you about Sylvestre’s 
 funeral, which I conducted myself, in Singapore. We 
 had thrown enough other dead into the Sea of China, 
 during the early days of the home voyage ; and as the 
 Malay land was quite near, we decided to keep his 
 remains a few hours longer, to bury him fittingly. 
 
 It was very early in the morning, on account of the 
 terrible sun. In the boat which carried him ashore, 
 his corpse was shrouded in the national flag. The 
 city was in sleep as we landed. A waggonette, sent 
 by the French Consul, was waiting on the quay ; we 
 laid Sylvestre upon it, with a wooden cross made on 
 board — the paint still wet upon it, for the carpenter 
 had to hurry over it, and the white letters of his 
 name ran into the black ground. 
 
 We crossed that Babel in the rising sun. And 
 then it was such an emotion to find the serene calm of 
 
THE GRAVE ABROAD. 
 
 35 
 
 an European place of worship, in the middle of the 
 distasteful turmoil of the Chinese country. Under the 
 high white arch, where I stood alone with my sailors, 
 the “ Dies Irce ” chanted by a missionary priest, sounded 
 like a soft magical incantation. Through the open 
 doors we could see sights which resembled enchanted 
 gardens, exquisite verdure and immense palm-trees ; 
 the wind shook the large flowering shrubs and their 
 perfumed crimson petals fell like rain, almost into the 
 church itself. Thence we marched to the cemetery, very 
 far off. Our little procession of sailors was very unpre- 
 tentious, but the coffin remained conspicuously wrapped 
 in the flag of France. We had to traverse the Chinese 
 quarter, through seething crowds of yellow men ; and 
 then the Malay and Indian suburbs, where all types of 
 Asiatic faces looked upon us with astonishment. 
 
 Then came the open country already heated ; through 
 shady groves where exquisite butterflies, on velvety blue 
 wings, flitted in masses. On either side, waved tall 
 luxuriant palms, and quantities of flowers in splendid 
 profusion. At last we came to the cemetery, with 
 mandarins’ tombs and many-coloured inscriptions, 
 adorned with paintings of dragons and other monsters ; 
 amid astounding foliage and plants growing every- 
 where. The spot where we laid him down to rest 
 
136 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 resembles a nook in the gardens of Indra. Into the 
 earth we drove the little wooden cross, lettered — 
 
 “Sylvestre Moan, 
 
 “aged 19.” 
 
 And we left him, forced to go because of the hot 
 rising sun ; we turned back once more to look at him 
 under those marvellous trees and huge nodding flowers. 
 
 CHAPTER IY. 
 
 TO THE SURVIVORS, THE SPOILS. 
 
 The trooper continued its course through the Indian 
 Ocean. Down below in the floating hospital other 
 death- scenes went on. On deck there was carelessness 
 of health and youth. Round about, over the sea, was 
 a very feast of pure sun and air. 
 
 In this fine trade-wind weather, the sailors, stretched 
 in the shade of the sails, were playing with little pet 
 parrots and making them run races. In this Singapore, 
 which they had just left, the sailors buy all kinds of 
 tame animals. They had all chosen baby parrots, with 
 childish looks upon their hooknose faces ; they had no 
 tails yet ; they were green, of a wonderful shade. As 
 
TO THE SURVIVORS , THE SPOILS. 
 
 1 37 
 
 they went running over the clean white planks, they 
 looked like fresh young leaves, fallen from tropical 
 trees. 
 
 Sometimes the sailors gathered them all together 
 in one lot, when they inspected one another funnily ; 
 twisting about their throats, to be seen under all 
 aspects. They comically waddled about like so many 
 lame people, or suddenly started off in a great hurry 
 for some unknown destination ; and some fell down in 
 their excitement. And there were monkeys, learning 
 tricks of all kinds, another source of amusement. Some 
 were most tenderly loved and even kissed extravagantly, 
 as they nestled against the callous bosoms of their 
 masters, gazing fondly at them with womanish eyes, 
 half-grotesque and half-touching. 
 
 Upon the stroke of three o’clock, the quartermasters 
 brought on deck two canvas bags, sealed with huge 
 red seals, bearing Sylvestre’s name ; for by order of 
 the regulations in regard to the dead, all his clothes 
 and personal worldly belongings were to be sold by 
 auction. The sailors gaily grouped themselves around 
 the pile; for, on board a hospital ship, too many of 
 these sales of effects are seen, to excite any particular 
 emotion. Besides, Sylvestre had been but little known 
 upon that ship. 
 
138 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 His jackets and shirts and blue-striped jerseys were 
 fingered and turned over and then bought up at different 
 prices, the buyers forcing the bidding just to amuse 
 themselves. 
 
 Then came the turn of the small treasure-box, which 
 was sold for fifty sous. The letters and military medal 
 had been taken out of it, to be sent back to the family ; 
 but not the book of songs and the work of Confucius, 
 with the needles, cotton, and buttons, and all the petty 
 requisites placed there by the forethought of Granny 
 Moan for sewing and mending purposes. 
 
 Then the quartermaster who held up the things to 
 be sold drew out two small Buddhas, taken in some 
 pagoda to give to Gaud, and so funny were they that 
 they were greeted with a general burst of laughter, 
 when they appeared as the last lot. But the sailors 
 laughed, not for want of heart, but only through 
 thoughtlessness. 
 
 To conclude, the bags were sold, and the buyer 
 immediately struck out the name on them to substitute 
 his own. 
 
 A careful sweep of the broom was afterwards given 
 to clear the scrupulously clean deck of the dust and 
 odds and ends, whilst the sailors returned merrily to 
 play with their parrots and monkeys. 
 
CHAPTER Y. 
 
 THE DEATH-BLOW. 
 
 One day, in the first fortnight of June, as old Yvonne 
 was returning home, some neighbours told her that she 
 had been sent for by the Commissioner from the Naval 
 Registry Office. 
 
 Of course it concerned her grandson, but that did 
 not frighten her in the least. The families of seafarers 
 are used to the Naval Registry, and she, the daughter, 
 wife, mother, and grandmother of seamen, had known 
 that office for the last sixty years. 
 
 Doubtless it had to do with his “ delegation ; ” or 
 perhaps there was a small prize-money account from 
 La Circe to take through her proxy. As she knew what 
 respect was due to a Monsieur le Commissaire” she put 
 on her best gown and a clean white cap, and set out 
 about two o’clock. 
 
 Trotting along swiftly on the pathways of the cliff, 
 she neared Paimpol; and musing upon those two 
 months without letters, she grew a bit anxious. 
 
 She met her old sweetheart sitting out at his door. 
 He had greatly aged since the appearance of the winter 
 cold. 
 
140 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 “ Eh, eh ? When you’re ready, you know, don’t 
 make any ceremony, my beauty ! ” That “ suit of deal” 
 still haunted his mind. 
 
 The joyous brightness of June smiled around her. 
 On the rocky heights there still grew the stunted reeds 
 with their yellow blossoms ; but passing into the hollow 
 nooks sheltered against the bitter sea winds, one met 
 with fresh green verdure, flowering hawthorn hedges, 
 and high sweet-smelling grass. 
 
 But the poor old woman did not see all this, over 
 whose head so many rapid seasons had passed, which 
 now seemed as short as days. 
 
 Around the crumbling hamlet with its gloomy walls 
 grew roses, pinks, and stocks ; and even up on the top 
 of the whitewashed and mossy roofs, sprang the 
 flowerets which attracted the first “ miller ” butterflies 
 of the season. 
 
 This spring-time was almost without love in the land 
 of the Icelanders, and the beautiful lasses of proud 
 race, who sat out dreaming on their doorsteps, seemed 
 to look far beyond the visible things with their blue 
 orjbrown eyes. The young men, who were the objects 
 of their melancholy and desires, were remote, fishing 
 on the Northern Seas. 
 
 But it was a springtime for all that — warm, sweet 
 
THE DEATH-BLOW. 
 
 141 
 
 and troubling, with its buzzing of flies and perfume of 
 young plants. 
 
 And all this soulless freshness smiled upon the poor 
 old grandmother, who was quickly walking along to 
 hear of the death of her last-born grandson. She 
 neared the awful moment when this event, which had 
 taken place so distant in the Chinese seas, was to be 
 told to her ; she was taking that sinister walk which 
 Sylvestre had divined at his death-hour — the sight of 
 which had torn his last agonised tears from him ; his 
 darling old granny summoned to Paimpol to be told 
 that he was dead ! Clearly he had seen her pass along 
 that road, running straight on, with her tiny brown 
 shawl, her umbrella, and large head-dress. And that 
 apparition had made him toss and writhe in fearful 
 anguish, whilst the huge red sun of the Equator, dis- 
 appearing in its glory, peered through the port-hole of 
 the hospital to watch him die. 
 
 But he, in his last hallucination, had seen his old 
 granny moving under a rain-laden sky, and on the 
 contrary a joyous laughing springtime mocked her 
 on all sides. 
 
 Nearing Paimpol, she became more and more uneasy, 
 and improved her speed. Now she is in the grey town 
 with its narrow granite streets, where the sun falls, 
 
142 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 bidding good-day to some other old women, her con- 
 temporaries, sitting at their windows. Astonished to 
 see her, they said : 
 
 “ Wherever is she going so quickly, in her Sunday 
 gown, on a week-day ? ” 
 
 “Monsieur le Commissaire” of the Naval Enlistment 
 Office was not in just then. One ugly little creature, 
 about fifteen years old, who was his clerk, sat at his 
 desk. As he was too puny to be a fisher, he had 
 received some education and passed his time in that 
 same chair, in his black linen dust-sleeves, scratching 
 away at paper. 
 
 With a look of importance, when she had said her 
 name, he got up to get the official documents from off 
 a shelf. 
 
 There were a great many papers — what did it all 
 mean? Parchments, sealed papers, a sailor’s record- 
 book, grown yellow on the sea, and over all floated an 
 odour of death. He spread them all out before the 
 poor old woman, who began to tremble and feel dizzy. 
 She had just recognised two of the letters which Gaud 
 used to write for her to her grandson, and which were 
 now returned to her never unsealed. The same thine: 
 had happened twenty years ago at the death of her 
 son Pierre ; the letters had been sent back from China 
 
THE DEATH-BLOW. 
 
 143 
 
 to “ Monsieur le Commissaire,” who had given them to 
 her thus. 
 
 Now he was reading out in a consequential voice : — 
 
 “ Moan, Jean-Marie- Sylvestre, registered at Paim- 
 pol, folio 213, number 2091, died on board the ‘ Bien 
 Hoa ,’ on the 14th of .” 
 
 “ What — what has happened him, my good sir ? ” 
 
 “ Discharged — dead,” he answered. 
 
 It wasn’t because this clerk was unkind, but if he 
 spoke in that brutal way, it was through want of judg- 
 ment, and from lack of intelligence in the little in- 
 complete being. 
 
 As he saw that she did not understand that technical 
 expression, he said in Breton : 
 
 “ Marw do ! ” 
 
 “ Marw do ! ” (He is dead.) 
 
 She repeated the words after him, in her aged 
 tremulous voice, as a poor cracked echo would send 
 back some indifferent phrase. So what she had partly 
 foreseen was true ; but it only made her tremble ; now 
 that it was certain, it seemed to affect her no more. 
 To begin with, her faculty to suffer was slightly dulled 
 by old age, especially since this last winter. Pain did 
 not strike her immediately. Something seemed to fall 
 upside down in her brain, and somehow or another she 
 
144 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 mixed this death up with others. She had lost so 
 many of them before. She needed a moment to grasp 
 that this was her very last one, her darling, the object 
 of all her prayers, life, and waiting, and of all her 
 thoughts, already darkened by the sombre approach of 
 second childhood. 
 
 She felt a sort of shame at showing her despair be- 
 fore this little gentleman who horrified her. Was that 
 the way to tell a grandmother of her darling’s death ? 
 She remained standing before the desk, stiffened, and 
 tearing the fringes of her brown shawl with her poor 
 aged hands, sore and chapped with washing. 
 
 How far away she felt from home ! Goodness ! what 
 a long walk back to be gone through, and steadily, too, 
 before nearing the white-washed hut in which she longed 
 to shut herself up, like a wounded beast who hides in 
 its hole to die. And so she tried not to think too much 
 and not to understand yet, frightened above all at the 
 long home-journey. 
 
 They gave her an order to go and take, as the heiress, 
 the thirty francs which came from the sale of Sylvestre’s 
 bag ; and then the letters, the certificates and the box 
 containing the military medal. 
 
 She took the whole parcel awkwardly with open 
 fingers, unable to find pockets to put them in. 
 
A CHARITABLE ASSUMPTION. 
 
 145 
 
 She went straight through Paimpol, looking at no 
 one, her body bent slightly like one about to fall, with 
 a rushing of blood in her ears ; pressing and hurrying 
 along like some poor old machine, which could not be 
 wound up, at a great pressure, for the last time, without 
 fear of breaking its springs. 
 
 At the third mile she went along quite bent in two 
 and exhausted; from time to time her foot struck 
 against the stones, giving her a painful shock up to the 
 very head. She hurried to bury herself in her home, 
 for fear of falling and having to be carried there. 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 A CHARITABLE ASSUMPTION. 
 
 “ Old Yvonne’s tipsy ! ” was the cry. 
 
 She had fallen, and the street-children ran after her. 
 It was just at the boundary of the parish of Ploubazlanec, 
 where many houses straggle along the roadside. But she 
 had the strength to rise and hobble along on her stick. 
 “ Old Yvonne’s tipsy ! ” 
 
 The bold little creatures stared her full in the face, 
 
 laughing. Her coif was all awry. Some of these little 
 
 K 
 
146 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 ones were not really wicked, and these, when they 
 scanned her closer and saw the senile grimace of bitter 
 despair, turned aside, surprised and saddened, daring 
 to say nothing more. 
 
 At home, with the door tightly closed, she gave vent 
 to the deep scream of despair which choked her, and 
 fell down in a corner, her head against the wall. Her 
 cap had fallen over her eyes; she threw off roughly 
 what formerly had been so well taken care of. Her 
 Sunday dress was soiled, and a thin mesh of yellowish 
 white hair strayed from beneath her cap, completing 
 her pitiful, poverty-stricken disorder. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE COMFORTER. 
 
 Thus did Gaud, coming in for news in the evening, 
 find her ; her hair dishevelled, her arms hanging down, 
 and her head resting against the stone wall, with a 
 fallen jaw grinning, and the plaintive whimper of a 
 little child ; she could scarcely weep any more ; these 
 grandmothers, grown too old, have no tears left in 
 their dried-up eyes. 
 
THE COMFORTER. 
 
 14 7 
 
 “ My grandson is dead ! ” 
 
 She threw the letters, papers, and medal into her 
 caller’s lap. 
 
 Gaud quickly scanned the whole, saw the news was 
 true, and fell on her knees to pray. 
 
 The two women remained there together almost 
 dumb, through the June gloaming, which in Brittany 
 is long but in Iceland is never-ending. On the hearth 
 that cricket which brings joy, was chirping his shrill 
 music. 
 
 The dim dusk entered through the narrow window 
 into the dwelling of those Moans, who had all been 
 devoured by the sea, and whose family was now extin- 
 guished. 
 
 At last, Gaud said : 
 
 “ I'll come to you, good granny, to live with you ; 
 I’ll bring my bed that they’ve left me, and I’ll take care 
 of you and nurse you — you shan’t be all alone.” 
 
 She wept, too, for her little friend Sylvestre, but in 
 her sorrow she was led involuntarily to think of another, 
 — he who had gone back to the deep-sea fishery. 
 
 They would have to write to Yann and tell him 
 Sylvestre was dead; it was just now that the fishers 
 were starting. Would he, too, weep for him ? Mayhap 
 he would, for he had loved him dearly. In the midst 
 
148 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 of her own tears, Gaud thought a great deal of him ; 
 now and again waxing wroth against that hard-hearted 
 fellow, and then pitying him at the thought of that 
 pain which would strike him also, and which would be 
 as a link between them both, — one way and another, 
 her heart was full of him. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE BROTHER’S GRIEF. 
 
 One pale August evening, the letter which announced 
 Yann’s brother’s death, at length arrived on board the 
 Marie , upon the Iceland seas ; it was after a day of hard 
 work and excessive fatigue, just as they were going 
 down to sup and to rest. With eyes heavy with sleep, 
 he read it in their dark nook below deck, lit by the 
 yellow beam of the small lamp ; at the first moment he 
 became stunned and giddy, like one dazed out of fair 
 understanding. Very proud and reticent in all things 
 concerning the feelings was YAnn, and he hid the 
 letter in his blue jersey, next his breast, without saying 
 anything, as sailors do. But he did not feel the courage 
 to sit down with the others to supper, and disdaining 
 
THE BROTHER’S GRIEF. 
 
 49 
 
 even to explain why, lie threw himself into his berth 
 and fell asleep. 
 
 Soon he dreamt of Sylvestre dead, and of his funeral 
 going by. 
 
 Towards midnight, being in that state of mind which 
 is peculiar to seamen who are conscious of the time of 
 day in their slumber, and quite clearly see the hour 
 draw nigh when to awaken for the watch, — he saw the 
 funeral, and said to himself : 
 
 “ I am dreaming ; luckily the mate will come and 
 wake me up, and the vision will pass away.” 
 
 But when a heavy hand was laid upon him and a 
 voice cried out : “ Tumble out, Gaos ! watch, hoy ! ” 
 he heard the slight rustling of paper at his breast, a 
 fine ghastly music which affirmed the fact of the death. 
 Yes, the letter! It was true, then? The more cruel, 
 heartrending impression deepened, and he jumped up 
 so quickly in his sudden start, that he struck his fore- 
 head against the overhead beam. He dressed and 
 opened the hatchway to go mechanically and take up 
 his place in the fishing. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WORK CURES SORROW. 
 
 When Yann was on deck, he looked around him with 
 sleep-laden eyes, over the familiar circle of the sea. 
 
 That night the illimitable immensity showed itself in 
 its most astonishingly simple aspects, in neutral tints, 
 giving only the impression of depth. This horizon, 
 which indicated no recognisable region of the earth, or 
 even any geological age, must have looked so many 
 times the same since the origin of time, that, gazing 
 upon it, one saw nothing save the eternity of things 
 which exist and cannot help existing. 
 
 It was not the dead of night, for a patch of light, 
 which seemed to ooze from no particular point, dimly lit 
 up the scene. The wind sobbed as usual its aimless 
 wail. All was grey, a fickle grey, which faded before 
 the fixed gaze. The sea, during its mysterious rest, 
 hid itself under feeble tints without a name. 
 
 Above floated scattered clouds ; they had assumed 
 various shapes, for, without form, things cannot exist ; 
 in the darkness they had blended together, so as to 
 form one single vast veiling. 
 
 But in one particular spot of the sky, low down on 
 the waters, they seemed a dark-veined marble, the 
 
WORK CURES SORROW. 
 
 15 1 
 
 streaks clearly defined although very distant ; a tender 
 drawing, as if traced by some dreamy hand — some chance 
 effect, not meant to be viewed for long, and indeed 
 hastening to die away. Even that alone, in the midst 
 of this broad grandeur, appeared to mean something ; 
 one might think that the sad, undefined thought of 
 the nothingness around was written there ; and the 
 sight involuntarily remained fixed upon it. 
 
 Yann’s dazzled eyes grew accustomed to the outside 
 darkness, and gazed more and more steadily upon that 
 veining in the sky ; it had now taken the shape of a 
 kneeling figure with arms outstretched. He began to 
 look upon it as a human shadow rendered gigantic by 
 the distance itself. 
 
 In his mind, where his indefinite dreams and primi- 
 tive beliefs still lingered, the ominous shadow, crushed 
 beneath the gloomy sky, slowly coalesced with the 
 thought of his dead brother, as if it were a last token 
 from him. 
 
 He was used to such strange associations of ideas, 
 that thrive in the minds of children. But words, vague 
 as they may be, are still too precise to express those 
 feelings ; one would need that uncertain language 
 which comes in dreams, of which upon awakening, one 
 retains merely enigmatical, senseless fragments. 
 
152 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 Looking upon the cloud, he felt a deep anguish, full 
 of unknown mystery, which froze his very soul ; he 
 understood full well now that his poor little brother 
 would never more be seen; sorrow, which had been 
 sometimes boring the hard rough rind of his heart, now 
 gushed in and brimmed it over. He beheld Sylvestre 
 again with his soft childish eyes ; at the thought of 
 embracing him no more, a veil fell between his eyelids 
 aud his eyes, against his will ; and, at first, he could 
 not rightly understand what it was — having never wept 
 in all his manhood. But the tears began to fall heavily 
 and swiftly down his cheeks, and deep sobs rent his 
 deep chest. 
 
 He went on with his fishing, losing no time and 
 speaking to no one, and his two mates, though hearing 
 him in the deep silence, pretended not to do so, for fear 
 of irritating him, knowing him to be so haughty and 
 reserved. 
 
 In his opinion death was the end of all. Out of 
 respect he often joined in the family prayers for the 
 dead, but he believed in no after-life of the soul. 
 
 Between them, in their long talks, the sailors all 
 said the same, in a blunt taken-for-granted way, as a 
 well-known fact; but it did not stop them from be- 
 lieving in ghosts, having a vague fear of graveyards, 
 
WORK CURES SORROW. 
 
 153 
 
 and an unlimited confidence in protecting saints and 
 images, and above all a deep respect for the consecrated 
 earth around the churches. 
 
 So Yann himself feared to be swallowed up by the 
 sea, as if it would annihilate him, and the thought of 
 Sylvestre, so far away on the other side of the earth, 
 made his sorrow more dark and desperate. 
 
 With his contempt for his fellows, he had no 
 shame or constraint in weeping, no more than if he 
 were alone. 
 
 Around the boat the chaos grew whiter, although it 
 was only two o’clock, and at the same time it appeared 
 to spread farther, hollowing in a fearful manner. With 
 that kind of rising dawn, eyes opened wider, and the 
 awakened mind could conceive better the immensity of 
 distance, as the boundaries of visible space receded 
 and widened away. 
 
 The pale aurora increased, seeming to come in tiny 
 jets with slight shocks ; eternal things seemed to light 
 up by sheer transparency, as if white-flamed lamps had 
 slowly been raised up behind the shapeless grey clouds, 
 and held there with mysterious care, for fear of disturb- 
 ing the calm even rest of the sea. Below the horizon 
 that colossal white lamp was the sun, which dragged 
 itself along without strength, before taking its leisure 
 
154 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 ascent, which began in the dawn’s eye above the 
 ocean. 
 
 On this day, the usual rosy tints were not seen ; all 
 remained pale and mournful. On board the grey ship, 
 Yann wept alone. The tears of the fierce elder brother, 
 together with the melancholy of this surrounding waste, 
 were as mourning, worn in honour of the poor obscure 
 young hero, upon these seas of Iceland where half his 
 life had been passed. 
 
 When the full light of day appeared, Yann abruptly 
 wiped his eyes with his sleeve and ceased weeping. 
 That grief was over now. He seemed completely ab- 
 sorbed by the work of the fishery, and by the mono- 
 tonous routine of substantial deeds, as if he had never 
 thought of anything else. 
 
 The catching went on apace, and there were scant 
 hands for the work. 
 
 Around about the fishers, in the immense depths, 
 a transformation scene was taking place. The grand 
 opening out of the infinitude, that great wonder of the 
 morning, had finished, and the distance seemed to 
 diminish and close in around them. How was it that 
 before the sea had seemed so boundless ! 
 
 The horizon was quite near now, and more space 
 seemedhiecessary. The void filled in with flecks and 
 
WORK CURES SORROW. 
 
 155 
 
 streamers which floated above, some vague as mist, 
 others with visibly jagged edges. They fell softly 
 amidst an utter silence, like snowy gauze, but fell on 
 all sides together, so that below them suffocation set 
 in swiftly ; it took away the breath to see the air so 
 thickened. 
 
 It was the first of the August fogs which was rising. 
 In a few moments the winding-sheet became universally 
 dense ; all around the Marie a white damp lay under 
 the light, and in it the mast faded and disappeared. 
 
 “ Here’s the cursed fog now, for sure,” grumbled the 
 men. 
 
 They had long ago made the acquaintance of that 
 compulsory companion of the second part of the fishing 
 season ; but it also announced its end and the time for 
 returning to Brittany. 
 
 It condensed into fine sparkling drops in their 
 beards, and shone upon their weather-beaten faces. 
 Looking athwart ship to one another, they appeared 
 dim as ghosts; and by comparison, nearer objects were 
 seen more clearly under the colourless light. They 
 took care not to inhale the air too deeply, for a feeling 
 of chill and wet penetrated the lungs. 
 
 But the fishing was going on briskly, so that they 
 had no time left to chatter, and they only thought of 
 
156 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 their lines. Every moment big heavy fish were drawn 
 in on deck, and slapped down with a smack like a 
 whip-crack ; there they wriggled about angrily, flapping 
 their tails on the deck, scattering plenty of sea-water 
 about, and silvery scales too, in the course of their death- 
 struggle. The sailor who split them open with his 
 long knife, sometimes cut his own fingers, in his haste, 
 so that his warm blood mingled with the brine. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE WHITE FOG. 
 
 Caught in the fog, they remained ten days in succession 
 without being able to see anything. The fishing went 
 on handsomely the while, and with so much to do that 
 there was no time for weariness. At regular intervals 
 one of them blew a long fog-horn, whence issued a sound 
 like the howling of a wild beast. 
 
 Sometimes, out of the depths of white fog, another 
 bellowing answered their call. Then a sharper watch 
 was kept. If the blasts were approaching, all ears were 
 turned in the direction of that unknown neighbour, 
 whom they might perhaps never see, but whose presence 
 was nevertheless a danger. Conjectures were made 
 
THE WHITE FOG. 
 
 15 7 
 
 about the strange vessel; it became a subject of con- 
 versation, a sort of company for them ; all longing to 
 see her, strained their eyes in vain efforts to pierce 
 those impalpable white shrouds. 
 
 Then the mysterious consort would depart, the bellow- 
 ing of her trumpet fading away in the distance, and 
 they would remain again in the deep hush, amidst the 
 infinity of stagnant vapour. Everything was drenched 
 with salt water ; the cold became more penetrating ; 
 each day the sun took longer to sink below the horizon ; 
 there were now real nights one or two hours long, and 
 their grey gloaming was chilly and weird. 
 
 Every morning they heaved the lead, through fear 
 that the Marie might have run too near the Icelandic 
 coast. But all the lines on board, fastened end to end, 
 were paid out in vain — the bottom could not be touched. 
 So they knew that they were well out in blue water. 
 
 Life on board was rough and wholesome ; the comfort 
 in the snug strong oaken cabin below was enhanced 
 by the impression of the piercing cold outside, when 
 they went down to supper or for rest. 
 
 In the daytime, these men, who were as secluded as 
 monks, spoke but little among themselves. Each held 
 his line, remaining for hours and hours in the same 
 immovable position. They were separated by some 
 
i5» 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 three yards of space, but it ended in not even seeing 
 one another. 
 
 The calm of the fog dulled the mind. Fishing so 
 lonely, they hummed home songs, so as not to scare 
 the fish away. Ideas came more slowly and seldom ; 
 they seemed to expand, filling in the space of time, 
 without leaving any vacuum. They dreamed of in- 
 coherent and mysterious things, as if in slumber, and 
 the woof of their dreams was as airy as fog itself. 
 
 This misty month of August usually terminated the 
 Iceland season, in a quiet, mournful way. Otherwise 
 the full physical life was the same, filling the sailors’ 
 lungs with rustling air and hardening their already 
 strong muscles. 
 
 Yann’s usual manner had returned, as if his great 
 grief had not continued ; watchful and active, quick at 
 his fishing work, a happy-go-lucky temper, like one 
 who had no troubles ; communicative at times, but very 
 rarely — and always carrying his head up high, with his 
 old, indifferent, domineering look. 
 
 At supper in the rough retreat, when they were all 
 seated at table, with their knives busy on their hot 
 plates, he occasionally laughed out as he used to do 
 at droll remarks of his mates. In his inner self he 
 perhaps thought of Gaud, to whom, doubtlessly, 
 
THE SPECTRE SHIP. 
 
 59 
 
 Sylvestre liacl plighted him in his last hours ; and she 
 had become a poor girl now, alone in the world. And 
 above all, perhaps, the mourning for his beloved brother 
 still preyed upon his heart. But this heart of his was 
 a virgin wilderness, difficult to explore and little 
 known, where many things took place unrevealed on 
 the exterior. 
 
 CHAPTER XT. 
 
 THE SPECTRE SHIP. 
 
 One morning, going on three o’clock, whilst all were 
 dreaming quietly under their winding-sheet of fog, they 
 heard something like a clamour of voices, — voices 
 whose tones seemed strange and unfamiliar. Those on 
 deck looked at each other questioningly. 
 
 “ Who’s that talking ? ” 
 
 Nobody. Nobody had said anything. For that 
 matter, the sounds had seemed to come from the outer 
 void. Then the man who had charge of the foghorn, but 
 had been neglecting his duty since overnight, rushed 
 for it, and inflating his lungs to their utmost, sounded 
 with all his might the long bellow of alarm. It was 
 enough to make a man of iron start, in such a silence. 
 
i6o 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 As if a spectre had been evoked by that thrilling 
 though deep-toned roar, a huge unforeseen grey form 
 suddenly arose very loftily and towered threateningly 
 right beside them; masts, spars, rigging, all like a 
 ship which had taken sudden shape in the air instantly, 
 just like a single beam of electric light evokes phan- 
 tasmagoria on the screen of a magic lantern. 
 
 Men appeared, almost close enough to touch them, 
 leaning over the bulwarks, staring at them with eyes 
 distended in the awakening of surprise and dread. 
 
 The Marie’s men rushed for oars, spars, boathooks, 
 anything they could lay their hands on for fenders, and 
 held them out to shove off that grisly thing and its im- 
 pending visitors. Lo ! these others, terrified also, put 
 out large beams to repel them likewise. 
 
 But there came only a very faint creaking in the 
 topmasts, as both standing gears momentarily entangled 
 became disengaged without the least damage; the 
 shock, very gentle in such a calm, had been almost 
 wholly deadened ; indeed it was so feeble that it really 
 seemed as if the other ship had no substance, that it 
 was a mere pulp, almost without weight. 
 
 When the fright was over, the men began to laugh ; 
 they had recognised each other. 
 
 “ La Marie , ahoy ! how are ye, lads ? ” 
 
THE SPECTRE SHIP. 
 
 161 
 
 “ Halloa ! Gaos, Laumec, Guermeur ! ” 
 
 The spectre ship was the Beine-Berthe , also of Paim- 
 pol, and so the sailors were from neighbouring villages ; 
 that thick, tall fellow with the huge black beard, 
 showing his teeth when he laughed, was Kerj^gou, 
 one of the Ploudaniel boys, the others were from 
 Plounes or Plounerin. 
 
 “ Why didn’t you blow your fog-horn and be blowed 
 to you, you herd of savages ? ’’challenged Larvoer of the 
 Reine-Berthe. 
 
 “ If it comes to that, why didn’t you blow yours, you 
 crew of pirates — you rank old mess of toad-fish ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, no ! with us, dye see, the sea-law differs. 
 Were forbidden to make any noise ! ” 
 
 He made this reply with the air of giving a dark 
 hint, and a queer smile, which afterwards came back 
 to the memory of the men of the Marie , and caused 
 them a great deal of thinking. Then, as if he thought 
 he had said too much, he concluded with a joke : 
 
 “ Our fog-horn, d’ye see, was burst by this rogue here 
 a-blowing too hard into it.” He pointed to a sailor 
 with a face like a Triton, a man all bull-neck and chest, 
 extravagantly broad-shouldered, low- set upon his legs, 
 with something unspeakably grotesque and unpleasant 
 in the deformity of strength. 
 
 L 
 
162 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 While they were looking at each other, waiting for 
 breeze or undercurrent to move one vessel faster than 
 the other and separate them, a general palaver began. 
 Leaning over the side, but holding each other off at a 
 respectable distance with their long wooden props, like 
 besieged pikemen repelling an assault, they began to 
 chat about home, the last letters received, and sweet- 
 hearts and wives. 
 
 “I say! my old woman/’ said Kerjegou, “ tells me 
 she’s had the little boy we were looking for ; that 
 makes half-score-two now ! ” 
 
 Another had found himself the father of twins ; and a 
 third announced the marriage of pretty Jeannie Caroff, 
 a girl well known to all the Icelanders, with some rich 
 and infirm old resident of the Commune of Plourivo. 
 As they were eyeing each other as if through 
 white gauze, this also appeared to alter the sound 
 of the voices, which came as if muffled and from far 
 away. 
 
 Meanwhile Yann could not take his eyes off one of 
 those brother fishermen, a little grizzled fellow, whom 
 he was quite sure he had never seen before, but who 
 had, nevertheless, straightway said to him, “ How 
 d’o, long Yann?” with all the familiarity of bosom 
 acquaintance. He wore the provoking ugliness of a 
 
THE SPECTRE SHIP. 
 
 163 
 
 monkey, with an apish twinkling of mischief too in 
 his piercing eyes. 
 
 “ As for me,” said Larvoer, of the Reine- Berthe, “ I’ve 
 been told of the death of the grandson of old Yvonne 
 Moan, of Ploubazlanec — who was serving his time in 
 the navy, yon know, in the Chinese squadron — a very 
 great pity.” 
 
 On hearing this, all the men of La Marie turned 
 towards Yann to learn if he already knew anything of 
 the sad news. 
 
 “Ay,” he answered in a low voice, but with an in- 
 different and haughty air, “ it was told me in the last 
 letter my father sent me.” They still kept on looking 
 at him, curious at finding out the secret of his grief, 
 and it made him angry. 
 
 These questions and answers were rapidly exchanged 
 through the pallid mists, so the moments of this 
 peculiar colloquy skipped swiftly by. 
 
 “My wife wrote me at the same time,” continued 
 Larvoer, “ that Monsieur Mevel’s daughter has left the 
 town to live at Ploubazlanec and take care of her old 
 grand-aunt — Granny Moan. She goes out to needle- 
 
 work by the day now — to earn her living. Anyhow, I 
 always thought, I did, that she was a good brave girl, 
 in spite of her fine lady airs and her furbelows.” 
 
AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 164 
 
 Then again they all stared at Yann, which made 
 him still more angry ; a red flush mounted to his 
 cheeks, under their tawny tan. 
 
 With Larvoer’s expression of opinion about Gaud 
 ended this parley with the crew of the Heine- Berthe, 
 none of whom were ever again to be seen by human 
 eyes. For a moment their faces became more dim, 
 their vessel being already farther away ; and then, all 
 at once, the men of the Marie found they had nothing 
 to push against, nothing at the end of their poles — 
 all spars, oars, odds and ends of deck-lumber, were 
 groping and quivering in emptiness, till they fell 
 heavily, one after the other, down the sea, like their 
 own arms, lopped off and inert. 
 
 They pulled all the useless defences on board. The 
 Beine-Berthe, melting away into the thick fog, had dis- 
 appeared as suddenly as a painted ship in a dissolving 
 view. They tried to hail her, but the only response 
 was a sort of mocking clamour — as of many voices — 
 ending in a moan, that made them all stare at each 
 other in surprise. 
 
 This Beine-Berthe never came back with the other 
 Icelandic fishers ; and as the men of the Samuel- 
 Azdnide afterwards picked up in some fjord an un- 
 mistakable waif (part of her taffrail with a bit of her 
 
THE STRANGE COUPLE. 
 
 1 65 
 
 keel), all ceased to hope ; in the month of October 
 the names of all her crew were inscribed upon black 
 slabs in the church. 
 
 From the very time of that apparition — the date of 
 which was well remembered by the men of the Marie 
 — until the time of their return, there had been no 
 really dangerous weather on the Icelandic seas, but 
 a great storm from the west had, three weeks before, 
 swept several sailors overboard, and swallowed up two 
 vessels. Then folks remembered Larvoer’s peculiar 
 smile, and putting things together many strange con- 
 jectures were made. In the dead of night, Yann, more 
 than once, dreamed that he again saw the sailor who 
 blinked like an ape, and some of the men of the Marie 
 wondered if, on that remembered morning, they had 
 not been talking with ghosts. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE STRANGE COUPLE. 
 
 Summer advanced, and, at the end of August, with the 
 first autumnal mists, the Icelanders came home. 
 
 For the last three months the two lone women had 
 lived together at Ploubazlanec in the Moans’ cottage. 
 
AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 1 66 
 
 Gaud filled a daughter’s place in the poor birthplace of 
 so many dead sailors. She had sent hither all that 
 remained from the sale of her father’s house ; her grand 
 bed in the town fashion, and her fine, different coloured 
 dresses. She had made herself a plainer black dress, 
 and, like old Yvonne, wore a mourning cap, of thick 
 white muslin, merely adorned with simple plaits. 
 Every day she went out sewing at the houses of the 
 rich people in the town, and returned every evening 
 without being detained on her way home by any sweet- 
 heart. She had remained as proud as ever, and was 
 still respected as a fine lady ; and as the lads bade her 
 good-night, they always raised their hand to their cap. 
 
 Through the sweet evening twilight, she walked 
 home from Paimpol, all along the cliff road inhaling 
 the fresh, comforting sea air. Constant sitting at 
 needlework had not deformed her like many others, 
 who are always bent in two over their work — and she 
 drew up her beautiful supple form perfectly erect in 
 looking over the sea, fairly across to where Yann was, 
 it seemed. 
 
 The same road led to his home. Had she walked on 
 much farther, towards a well-known rocky wind-swept 
 nook, she would come to that hamlet of Pors-Even, 
 where the trees, covered with grey moss, grew cram- 
 
THE STRANGE COUPLE. 
 
 6 7 
 
 pedly between the stones, and are slanted over lowly 
 by the western gales. Perhaps she might never more 
 return there, although it was only a league away ; but 
 once in her lifetime she had been there, and that was 
 enough to cast a charm over the whole road ; and, be- 
 sides, Yann would certainly often pass that way, and 
 she could fancy seeing him upon the bare moor, step- 
 ping between the stumpy reeds. 
 
 She loved the whole region of Ploubazlanec, and was 
 almost happy that fate had driven her there ; she could 
 never have become resigned to live in any other place. 
 
 Towards this end of August, a southern warmth, dif- 
 fusing languor, rises and spreads towards the north, 
 with luminous afterglows and stray rays from a distant 
 sun, which float over the Breton seas. Often the air 
 is calm and pellucid, without a single cloud on high. 
 
 At the hour of Gaud’s return journey, all things had 
 already begun to fade in the nightfall, and become 
 fused into close, compact groups. Here and there a 
 clump of reeds strove to make way between stones, like 
 a battle-torn flag; in a hollow, a cluster of gnarled 
 trees formed a dark mass, or else some straw-thatched 
 hamlet appeared, like a saw upon the moor. 
 
 At the cross-roads the images of Christ on the cross, 
 which watch over and protect the country, stretched 
 
AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 1 68 
 
 out their black arms on their supports like real men 
 in torture ; in the distance the Channel appeared fair 
 and calm, one vast golden mirror, under the already 
 darkened sky and shade-laden horizon. 
 
 In this country even the calm fine weather was a 
 melancholy thing ; notwithstanding, a vague uneasi- 
 ness seemed to hover about; a palpable dread emanating 
 from the sea to which so many lives are intrusted, and 
 whose everlasting threat only slumbered. 
 
 Gaud sauntered along as in a dream, and never found 
 the way long enough. The briny smell of the shore, 
 and a sweet odour of flowerets growing along the cliffs 
 amidst thorny bushes, perfumed the air. Had it not 
 been for Granny Yvonne waiting for her at home, she 
 would have loitered along the reed- strewn paths, like 
 the beautiful ladies in stories, who dream away the 
 summer evenings in their fine parks. 
 
 Many thoughts of her early childhood came back to 
 her as she passed through the country ; but they seemed 
 so effaced and far away now, eclipsed by her love loom- 
 ing up between. 
 
 In spite of all, she went on thinking of Yann as 
 engaged in a degree — a restless, scornful betrothed, 
 whom she would never really have, but to whom she 
 persisted in being faithful in mind, without speaking 
 
THE STRANGE COUPLE . 
 
 169 
 
 about it to any one. For the time, she was happy to 
 know that he was in Iceland ; for there, at least, the 
 sea would keep him lonely in her deep cloisters, and 
 he would belong to no other woman. 
 
 True, he would return one of these days, but she 
 looked upon that return more calmly than before. She 
 instinctively understood that her poverty would not be 
 a reason for him to despise her ; for he was not as 
 other men. Moreover, the death of poor Sylvestre 
 would draw them closer together. Upon his return, he 
 could not do otherwise than come to see his friend’s 
 old granny ; and Gaud had decided to be present at 
 that visit ; for it did not seem to her that it would be 
 undignified. Appearing to remember nothing, she 
 would talk to him as to a long-known friend ; she 
 would even speak with affection, as was due to Syl- 
 vestre’s brother, and try to seem easy and natural. 
 And who knows ? Perhaps it would not be impossible 
 to be as a sister to him, now that she was so lonely 
 in the world ; to rely upon his friendship, even to 
 ask it as a support, with enough preliminary explana- 
 tion for him not to accuse her of any after-thought of 
 marriage. 
 
 She judged him to be untamed and stubborn in his 
 independent ideas, yet tender and loyal, and capable 
 
i7o 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 of understanding the goodness which comes straight 
 from the- heart. 
 
 How would he feel when he met her again, in her 
 poor ruined home ? Very, very poor, she was — for 
 Granny Moan was not strong enough now to go out 
 washing, and only had her small widow’s pension left ; 
 granted, she ate but little, and the two could still 
 manage to live, not dependent upon others. 
 
 Night was always fallen when she arrived home; 
 before she could enter she had to go down a little over 
 
 towards the beach, below the level of the Ploubazlanec 
 roadside. It was almost hidden under its thick brown 
 straw thatch, and looked like the back of some huge 
 dead beast, shrunk down under its bristling fur. Its 
 walls were sombre and rough like the rocks, but with 
 tiny tufts of green moss and lichens over them. There 
 were three uneven steps before the threshold, and the 
 inside latch was opened by a length of rope-yarn run 
 through a hole. Upon entering the first thing to be 
 seen was the window, hollowed out through the wall 
 as in the substance of a rampart, and giving view of 
 the sea, whence in flowed a dying yellow light. On the 
 hearth burned brightly the sweet-scented branches of 
 pine and beechwood which old Yvonne used to pick up 
 
THE STRANGE COUPLE. 
 
 171 
 
 along the way, and she herself was sitting there, seeing 
 to their bit of supper ; indoors she wore a kerchief 
 over her head to save her cap. Her still beautiful 
 profile was outlined in the red flame of her fire. She 
 looked up at Gaud. Her eyes, which formerly were 
 brown, had taken a faded look, and almost appeared 
 blue ; they seemed no longer to see, and were troubled 
 and uncertain with old age. Each day she greeted 
 Gaud with the same words : 
 
 “ Oh, dear me ! my good lass, how late you are to- 
 night.” 
 
 “ Ho, Granny,” answered Gaud, who was used to it. 
 “ This is the same time as other days.” 
 
 “ Eh ? It seemed to me, dear, later than usual.” 
 They sat down to supper at their table, which had 
 almost become shapeless from constant use, but was 
 still as thick as the generous slice of a huge oak. 
 The cricket began its silver-toned music again. 
 
 One of the sides of the cottage was filled up by 
 roughly sculptured, worm-eaten woodwork, which had 
 an opening wherein were set the sleeping bunks, where 
 generations of fishers had been born, and where their 
 aged mothers had died. 
 
 Quaint old kitchen utensils hung from the black 
 beams, as well as bunches of sweet herbs, wooden spoons, 
 
172 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 and smoked bacon ; fishing-nets, which had been left 
 there since the shipwreck of the last Moans, their 
 meshes nightly bitten by the rats. 
 
 Gaud’s bed stood in an angle under its white muslin 
 draperies; it seemed like a very fresh and elegant 
 modern invention brought into the hut of a Celt. 
 
 On the granite wall hung a photograph of Sylvestre 
 in his sailor clothes. His grandmother had fixed his 
 military medal to it, with his own pair of those red 
 cloth anchors which French men-of-wars-men wear on 
 their right sleeve ; Gaud had also bought one of those 
 funereal crowns, of black and white beads, placed round 
 the portraits of the dead in Brittany. This represented 
 Sylvestre’s mausoleum, and was all that remained to 
 consecrate his memory in his own land. 
 
 On summer evenings they did not sit up late, to 
 save the lights ; when the weather was fine, they sat 
 out a while on a stone bench before the door, and 
 looked at the passers-by in the road, a little over their 
 heads. Then old Yvonne would lie down on her cup- 
 board shelf ; and Gaud on her fine bed, would fall asleep 
 pretty soon, being tired out with her day’s work, and 
 walking and dreaming of the return of the Icelanders. 
 Like a wise, resolute girl, she was not too greatly 
 apprehensive. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 RENEWED DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 But one day in Paimpol, hearing that La Marie had 
 just got in, Gaud felt possessed with a kind of fever. 
 All her quiet composure disappeared ; she abruptly 
 finished up her work, without quite knowing why, and 
 set off home sooner than usual. 
 
 Upon the road, as she hurried on, she recognised 
 him , at some distance off, coming towards her. 
 
 She trembled and felt her strength giving way. He 
 was now quite close, only about twenty steps off, his 
 head erect and his hair curling out from beneath his 
 fisher’s cap. She was so taken by surprise at this 
 meeting, that she was afraid she might fall, and then 
 he would understand all ; she would die of very shame 
 at it. She thought, too, she was not looking well, but 
 wearied by the hurried work. She would have done 
 anything to be hidden away under the reeds or in one 
 of the ferret-holes. 
 
 He also had taken a backward step, as if to turn in 
 another direction. But it was too late now. Both met 
 in the narrow path. Not to touch her, he drew up 
 against the bank, with a side swerve like a skittish 
 horse, looking at her in a wild, stealthy way. 
 
174 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 She, too, for one half second looked up, and in spite 
 of herself mutely implored him, with an agonised prayer. 
 In that involuntary meeting of their eyes, swift as the 
 firing of a gun, these grey pupils of hers had appeared 
 to dilate and light up with some grand noble thought, 
 which flashed forth in a blue flame, while the blood 
 rushed crimson even to her temples beneath her golden 
 tresses. 
 
 As he touched his cap he faltered. 
 
 “ ’Wish you good-day, Mademoiselle Gaud.” 
 
 “ Good-day, Monsieur Yann,” she answered. 
 
 That was all. He passed on. She went on her way, 
 still quivering, but feeling, as he disappeared, that her 
 blood was slowly circulating agakq and her strength 
 returning. 
 
 At home, she found Granny Moan crouching in a 
 corner with her head held between her hands, sobbing 
 with her childish “ he, he ! ” her hair dishevelled and 
 falling from beneath her cap like thin skeins of grey 
 hemp. 
 
 u Oh, my kind Gaud ! I’ve just met young Gaos down 
 by Plouherzel as I came came back from my wood- 
 gathering ; we spoke of our poor lad, of course. They 
 arrived this morning from Iceland, and in the after- 
 noon he came over to see me whilst I was out. Poor 
 
THE GRAN DAM BREAKING UP. 
 
 175 
 
 lad, lie had tears in his eyes, too. He came right up to 
 my door, my kind Gaud, to carry my little faggot.” 
 
 She listened, standing, whilst her heart seemed 
 almost to break ; so this visit of Yann’s, upon which 
 she had so much relied for to say so many things, was 
 already over, and would doubtless not occur again. It 
 was all done. Her poor heart seemed more lonely than 
 ever, her misery harder, and the world more empty; 
 and she hung her head with a wild desire to die. 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 THE GRANDAM BREAKING UP. 
 
 Slowly the winter drew nigh, and spread over all like 
 a shroud leisurely drawn. Grey days followed one 
 another, but Yann appeared no more, and the two 
 women lived on in their loneliness — with the cold, 
 their daily existence became harder and more expensive. 
 
 Old Yvonne was difficult to tend, too ; her poor mind 
 was going. She got into fits of temper now, and spoke 
 wicked, insulting speeches once or twice every week ; 
 it took her so, like a child, about mere nothings. 
 
 Poor old granny ! She was still so sweet in her 
 lucid days, that Gaud did not cease to respect and 
 
AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 176 
 
 cherish her. To have always been so good and to end 
 by being bad, and show towards the close a depth of 
 malice and spitefnlness which had slumbered during her 
 whole life ; to use a whole vocabulary of coarse words 
 which she had hidden ; what mockery of the soul ! what 
 a derisive mystery ! She began to sing, too, which was 
 still more painful to hear than her angry words, for she 
 mixed everything up together — the oremus of a mass 
 with refrains of loose songs heard in the harbour from 
 wandering sailors. Sometimes she sang “ Les Fillettes de 
 Paimpol ” (The Lasses of Paimpol), or, nodding her head 
 and beating the time with her foot, she would mutter : 
 
 “ Mon mari vient de partir ; 
 
 Pour la peche d’lslande, mon mari vient de partir, 
 
 II m’a laissee sans le sou, 
 
 Mais — trala, trala la lou, 
 
 J’en gagne, j’en gagne.* 
 
 She always stopped short, while her eyes opened 
 wide with a lifeless expression, like those dying flames 
 which suddenly flash out before fading away. She 
 
 * My husband went off sailing 
 Upon the Iceland cruise ; 
 
 But never left me money, 
 
 Not e’en a couple sous. 
 
 But — ri too loo ! ri tooral loo ! 
 
 I know what to do ! 
 
THE GRAN DAM BREAKING UP. 
 
 1 77 
 
 hung her head and remained speechless for a great 
 length of time, her lower jaw dropping as in the dead. 
 
 One day she could remember nothing of her grandson. 
 
 “ Sylvestre ? Sylvestre ? ” repeated she, wondering 
 whom Gaud meant ; “ oh ! my dear, d’ye see, I’ve had 
 so many of them, when I was young, boys and girls 
 together, that now I can’t remember their names ! ” 
 
 So saying she threw up her poor wrinkled hands, 
 with a careless, almost contemptuous toss. But the 
 next day she remembered him quite well ; mentioning 
 several things he had said or done, and that whole day 
 long she wept. 
 
 Oh ! those long winter evenings when there was not 
 enough wood for their fire ; to work in the bitter cold 
 for one’s daily bread, sewing hard to finish the clothes 
 brought over from Paimpol. 
 
 Granny Yvonne, sitting by the hearth, remained 
 quiet enough, her feet stuck in among the smouldering 
 embers, and her hands clasped beneath her apron. 
 But at the beginning of the evening, Gaud always had 
 to talk to her to cheer her a little. 
 
 “ Why don’t ye speak to me, my good girl ? In my 
 time I’ve known many girls who had plenty to say for 
 themselves. I don’t think it ’ud seem so lonesome, if 
 ye’d only talk a bit.” 
 
 M 
 
i 7 8 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 So Gaud would tell her chitchat she had heard in 
 town, or spoke of the people she had met on her way 
 home, talking of things which were quite indifferent 
 to her, as indeed all things were now ; and stopping in 
 the midst of her stories when she saw the poor old 
 woman was falling asleep. 
 
 There seemed nothing lively or youthful around her, 
 whose fresh youth yearned for youth. Her beauty 
 would fade away, lonely and barren. The wind from 
 the sea came in from all sides, blowing her lamp about, 
 and the roar of the waves could be heard as in a ship. 
 Listening, the ever-present sad memory of Yann came 
 to her, the man whose dominion was these battling 
 elements ; through the long terrible nights, when all 
 things were unbridled and howling in the outer dark- 
 ness, she thought of him with agony. 
 
 Always alone as she was, with the sleeping old 
 granny, she sometimes grew frightened and looked in 
 all dark comers, thinking of the sailors, her ancestors, 
 who had lived in these nooks, but perished in the sea 
 on such nights as these. Their spirits might possibly 
 return ; and she did not feel assured against the visit 
 of the dead by the presence of the poor old woman, who 
 was almost as one of them herself. 
 
 Suddenly she shivered from head to foot, as she 
 
THE GRAND AM BREAKING UP. 
 
 179 
 
 heard a thin, cracked voice, as if stifled under the 
 earth, proceed from the chimney corner. 
 
 In a chirping tone, which chilled her very soul, the 
 voice sang : 
 
 “ Pour la peche d’Islande, mon mari vient de partir ; 
 
 II m’a laiss^e sans le sou, 
 
 Mais — trala, trala la lou ! ” 
 
 Then she was seized with that peculiar terror which 
 one has of mad people. 
 
 The rain fell with an unceasing, fountain-like gush, 
 and streamed down the walls outside. There were 
 oozings of water from the old moss-grown roof, which 
 continued dropping on the self-same spots with a 
 monotonous sad splash. They even soaked through 
 into the floor inside, which was of hardened earth 
 studden with pebbles and shells. 
 
 Dampness was felt on all sides, wrapping them up 
 in its chill masses; an uneven, buffeting dampness, 
 misty and dark, and seeming to isolate the scattered 
 huts of Ploubazlanec still more. 
 
 But the Sunday evenings were the saddest of all, 
 because of the relative gaiety in other homes on that 
 day, for there are joyful evenings even among those 
 forgotten hamlets of the coast; here and there, from 
 
i8o 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 some closed-up hut, beaten about by the inky rains, 
 ponderous songs issued. Within, tables were spread 
 for drinkers ; sailors sat before the smoking fire, the 
 old ones drinking brandy and the young ones flirting 
 with the girls ; all more or less intoxicated and singing 
 to deaden thought. Close to them, the great sea, 
 their tomb on the morrow, sang also, filling the vacant 
 night with its immense profound voice. 
 
 On some Sundays, parties of young fellows who 
 came out of the taverns or back from Paimpol, passed 
 along the road, near the door of the Moans ; they were 
 such as lived at the land’s end of Pors-Even way. 
 They passed very late, caring little for the cold and 
 wet, accustomed as they were to frost and tempests. 
 Gaud lent her ear to the medley of their songs and 
 shouts — soon lost in the uproar of the squalls or 
 the breakers — trying to distinguish Yann’s voice, and 
 then feeling strangely perplexed if she thought she 
 had heard it. 
 
 It really was too unkind of Yann not to have 
 returned to see them again, and to lead so gay a life 
 so soon upon the death of Sylvestre ; all this was 
 unlike him ! No, she really could not understand him 
 now, but in spite of all she could not forget him or 
 believe him to be without heart. 
 
THE NEW SHIP. 
 
 The fact was that since his return he had been lead- 
 ing a most dissipated life indeed. 
 
 Three or four times, on the Ploubazlanec road, she 
 had seen him coming towards her, but she was always 
 quick enough to shun him ; and he, too, in those cases, 
 took the opposite direction over the heath. As if by a 
 mutual understanding, now, they fled from each other. 
 
 CHAPTEK XV. 
 
 THE NEW SHIP. 
 
 At Paimpol there lives a large stout woman named 
 Madame Tressoleur. In one of the streets which lead 
 to the harbour she keeps a tavern, well known to all 
 the Icelanders, where captains and shipowners come 
 to engage their sailors, and choose the strongest amongst 
 them, men and masters all drinking together. 
 
 At one time she had been beautiful, and was still 
 jolly with the fishers ; she has a moustache, is as broad 
 built as a Dutchman, and as bold and ready of speech 
 as a Levantine. There is a look of the daughter of the 
 regiment about her, notwithstanding her ample nun- 
 like muslin head-gear ; for all that, a religious halo of 
 
182 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 its sort floats around her, for the simple reason that she 
 is a Breton born. 
 
 The names of all the sailors in the country are 
 written in her head as in a register ; she knows them 
 all, good or bad, and knows exactly, too, what they 
 earn and what they are worth. 
 
 One January day, Gaud, who had been called in to 
 make her a dress, sat down to work in a room behind 
 the taproom. 
 
 To go into the abode of our Madame Tressoleur, you 
 enter by a broad, massive-pillared door, which recedes 
 in the olden style under the first floor. When you go 
 to open this door, there is always some obliging gust of 
 wind from the street which pushes it in, and the new- 
 comers make an abrupt entrance, as if carried in by a 
 beach roller. The hall is deep and low, is white-washed, 
 and is adorned by gilt frames containing pictures of 
 ships and wrecks. In an angle a china statuette of 
 the Virgin is placed on a bracket, between two bunches 
 of artificial flowers. 
 
 These olden walls must have listened to many power- 
 ful songs of sailors, and witnessed many wild gay scenes, 
 since the first far-off days of Paimpol — all through the 
 lively times of the privateers, up to these of the present 
 Icelanders, so very little different to their ancestors. 
 
THE NEW SHIP. 
 
 183 
 
 Many lives of men has been angled for and hooked 
 there, on the oaken tables, between two drunken bouts. 
 
 Whilst she was sewing the dress, Gaud lent her ear 
 to the conversation going on about Iceland, behind the 
 partition, between Madame Tressoleur and two old 
 sailors, drinking. They were discussing a new craft 
 that was being rigged in the harbour. She would 
 never be ready for the next season, so they said of this 
 Ldopoldine. 
 
 “ Oh, yes, to be sure she will ! ” answered the hostess. 
 a I tell ’ee the crew was all made up yesterday — the 
 whole of ’em out of the old Marie of Guermeur’s, that’s 
 to be sold for breaking up ; five young fellows signed 
 their engagment here before me, at this here table, and 
 with my own pen — so ye see, I’m right ! And fine 
 fellows, too, I can tell ’ee; Laumec, Tugdual Caroif, 
 Yvon Duff, young Keraez from Treguier, and long 
 Yann Gaos from Pors-Even, who’s worth any three 
 on ’em ! ” 
 
 The Ldoipoldine ! The half-heard name of the ship 
 which was to carry Yann away became suddenly fixed 
 in her brain, as if it had been hammered in to remain 
 more ineffaceably there. 
 
 At night back again at Ploubazlanec, and finishing 
 off her work by the light of her pitiful lamp, that name 
 
184 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 came back to her mind, and its very sound impressed 
 her as a sad thing. The names of vessels, as of things, 
 have a significance in themselves — almost a particular 
 meaning of their own. The new and unusual word 
 haunted her with an unnatural persistency, like 
 some ghastly and clinging warning. She had ex- 
 pected to see Yann start off again on the Marie , 
 which she knew so well and had formerly visited, and 
 whose Virgin had so long protected its dangerous 
 voyages ; and the change to the Ltojpoldine increased 
 her anguish. 
 
 But she told herself that that was not her concern, 
 and nothing about him ought ever to affect her. After 
 all, what could it matter to her whether he were here or 
 there, on this ship or another, ashore or not ? Would 
 she feel less miserable with him back in Iceland, when 
 the summer would return over the deserted cottages, 
 and lonely anxious women, — or when a new autumn 
 came again, bringing home the fishers once more ? All 
 that was alike indifferent to her, equally without joy 
 or hope. There was no link between them now, nothing 
 ever to bring them together, for was he not forgetting 
 even poor little Sylvestre? So, she had plainly to 
 understand that this sole dream of her life was over for 
 ever; she had to forget Yann, and all things apper- 
 
THE NEW SHIP. 
 
 185 
 
 taming to his existence, even the very name of Iceland, 
 which still vibrated in her with so painful a charm — 
 because of him all such thoughts must be swept away. 
 All was indeed over, for ever and ever. 
 
 She tenderly looked over at the poor old woman 
 asleep, who still required all her attention, but who 
 would soon die. Then, what would be the good of living 
 and working after that ; of what use would she be ? 
 
 Out of doors, the western wind had again risen ; 
 and, notwithstanding its deep distant soughing, the 
 soft regular patter of the eaves-droppings could be 
 heard as they dripped from the roof. And so the tears 
 began to flow of the forsaken one — tears running even 
 to her lips to impart their briny taste, and dropping 
 silently on her work, like summer showers brought by 
 no breeze, but suddenly falling, hurried and heavy, 
 from the over-laden clouds ; as she could no longer see 
 to work, and she felt worked out and discouraged before 
 this great hollowness of her life, she folded up the extra- 
 sized body of Madame Tressoleur and went to bed. 
 
 She shivered upon that fine, grand bed, for like all 
 things in the cottage, it seemed also to be getting 
 colder and damper. But as she was very young, al- 
 though she still continued weeping, it ended by her 
 growing warm and falling asleep. 
 
CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 LONE AND LORN. 
 
 Other sad weeks followed on, till it was early Feb- 
 ruary, fine temperate weather. Yann bad just come 
 from bis shipowner’s, where he had received his wages 
 for the last summer’s fishery, fifteen hundred francs, 
 which, according to the custom of the family, he car- 
 ried to his mother. The catch had been a good one, 
 and he returned well pleased. 
 
 Hearing Ploubazlanec, he spied a crowd by the side 
 of the road. An old woman was gesticulating with 
 her stick, whilst the street boys mocked and laughed 
 around her. It was Granny Moan. The good old 
 granny whom Sylvestre had so tenderly loved — her 
 dress torn and bedraggled, had now become one of 
 those poor old women, almost fallen back in second 
 childhood, who are followed and ridiculed along their 
 roads. The sight hurt him cruelly. 
 
 The boys of Ploubazlanec had killed her cat, and she 
 angrily and despairingly threatened them with her 
 stick. 
 
 “ Ah, if my poor lad had only been here ! for sure, 
 you’d never dared do it, you young rascals ! ” 
 
LONE AND LORN . 
 
 187 
 
 It appeared that as she ran after them to beat them, 
 she had fallen down ; her cap was awry, and her dress 
 covered with mnd ; they called out that she was tipsy 
 (as it often happens to those poor old “grizzling” 
 people in the country who have met misfortune). 
 
 But Yann clearly knew that that was not true, and 
 that she was a very respectable old woman, who only 
 drank water. 
 
 “ Aren’t you ashamed ? ” roared he to the boys. 
 
 He was very angry, and his voice and tone frightened 
 them, so that in the twinkling of an eye they all took 
 flight, afeared and confused before “ Long Gaos.” 
 
 Gaud, who was just returning from Paimpol, bringing 
 home her work for the evening, had seen all this from 
 afar, but had recognised granny in the group. She 
 eagerly rushed forward to learn what the matter was, 
 and what they had done to her ; seeing the cat, she 
 understood it all. She lifted up her frank eyes to 
 Yann, who did not look aside ; neither thought of 
 avoiding each other now; but they both blushed deeply, 
 and they gazed rather startled at being so near one 
 another ; but without hatred, almost with affection, 
 united as they were in this common impulse of pity 
 and protection. 
 
 The school-children had owed a grudge to the poor 
 
1 88 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 dead grimalkin for some time, because be bad a black, 
 Satanic look, tbougb be was really a very good cat, 
 and when one looked closely at him, be was soft and 
 caress-inviting of coat. They had stoned him to death, 
 and one of bis eyes bung out. The poor old woman 
 went on grumbling, shaking with emotion, and carrying 
 her dead cat by the tail, like a dead rabbit. 
 
 u Oh, dear, oh, dear! my poor boy, my poor lad, 
 if be were only here ; for sure, they’d never dared 
 a-do it.” 
 
 Tears were falling down in her poor wrinkles ; and 
 her rough blue-veined bands trembled. 
 
 Gaud bad put her cap straight again, and tried to 
 comfort her with soothing words. Yann was quite 
 indignant to think that little children could be so cruel 
 as to do such a thing to a poor aged woman and her 
 pet. Tears almost came into his eyes, and his heart 
 ached for the poor old dame as he thought of Sylvestre, 
 who had loved her so dearly, and the terrible pain it 
 would have been to him to see her end thus, under 
 derision and in misery. 
 
 Gaud excused herself as if she were responsible for 
 her state. 
 
 “ She must have fallen down,” she said in a low 
 voice ; “ ’tis true her dress isn’t new, for we’re not 
 
LONE AND LORN . 
 
 189 
 
 very rich, Monsieur Yann ; but I mended it again only 
 yesterday, and this morning when I left home I’m sure 
 she was neat and tidy.” 
 
 He looked at her steadfastly, more deeply touched 
 by that simple excuse than by clever phrases or self- 
 reproaches and tears. Side by side they walked on to 
 the Moans’ cottage. He always had acknowledged her 
 to be lovelier than any other girl, but it seemed to him 
 that she was even more beautiful now in her poverty 
 and mourning. She wore a graver look, and her grey 
 eyes had a more reserved expression, and nevertheless 
 seemed to penetrate to the inner depth of the soul. 
 Her figure, too, was thoroughly formed. She was 
 twenty-three now, in the full bloom of her loveliness. 
 She looked like a genuine fisher’s daughter, too, in her 
 plain black gown and cap ; yet one could not precisely 
 tell what gave her that unmistakable token of the lady ; 
 it was involuntary and concealed within herself, and she 
 could not be blamed for it; only perhaps her bodice 
 was a trifle nicer fitting than the others, though from 
 sheer inborn taste, and showed to advantage her 
 rounded bust and perfect arms. But, no ! the mystery 
 was revealed in her quiet voice and look. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE ESPOUSAL. 
 
 f 
 
 It was manifest tliat Yann meant to accompany them; 
 perhaps all the way home. They walked on, all three 
 together, as if following the cat’s funeral procession ; it 
 was almost comical to watch them pass; and the old 
 folks on the doorsteps grinned at the sight. Old 
 Yvonne, in the middle, carried the dead pet; Gaud 
 walked on her right, trembling and blushing, and tall 
 Yann on the left, grave and haughty. 
 
 The aged woman had become quiet now; she had 
 tidied her hair up herself and walked silently, looking 
 alternately at them both from the tail of her eyes, 
 which had become clear again. 
 
 Gaud said nothing for fear of giving Yann the 
 opportunity of taking his leave ; she would have 
 liked to feel his kind, tender eyes eternally on her, 
 and to walk along with her own closed so as to think 
 of nothing else ; to wander along thus by his side in 
 the dream she was weaving, instead of arriving so soon 
 at their lonely, dark cottage, where all must fade away. 
 
 At the door occurred one of those moments of in- 
 decision when the heart seems to stop beating. The 
 
THE ESPOUSAL. 
 
 191 
 
 grandam went in without turning round, then Gaud, 
 hesitating, and Yann, behind, entered, too. 
 
 He was in their home for the first time in his life — 
 probably without any reason. What could he want ? 
 As he passed over the threshold he touched his hat, 
 and then his eyes fell and dwelt upon Sylvestre’s 
 portrait in its small black-beaded frame. He went 
 slowly up to it, as to a tomb. 
 
 Gaud remained standing with her hands resting on 
 the table. He looked around him ; she watched him 
 take a silent inspection of their poverty. Very poor 
 looked this cottage of the two forsaken women. At 
 least he might feel some pity for her, seeing her 
 reduced to this misery inside its plain granite and 
 whitewash. Only the fine white bed remained of all 
 past splendour, and involuntarily^ Yann’s eyes rested 
 there. 
 
 He said nothing. Why did he not go? The old 
 grandmother, although still so sharp in her lucid in- 
 intervals, appeared not to notice him. How odd ! So 
 they remained over against one another, seeming re- 
 spectively to question with a yearning desire. But 
 the moments were flitting, and each second seemed to 
 emphasise the silence between them. They gazed at 
 one another more and more searchingly, as if in 
 
192 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 solemn expectation of some wonderful, exquisite event, 
 which was too long in coming. 
 
 “ Gaud,” he began, in a low grave voice, “ if you’re 
 still of a mind now ” 
 
 What was he .going to say ? She felt instinctively 
 that he had suddenly taken a mighty resolution — 
 rapidly as he always did, but hardly dared word it. 
 
 “ If you be still of a mind — d’ye see, the fish has sold 
 well this year, and I’ve a little money ahead ” 
 
 “ If she were still of a mind ! ” What was he asking 
 of her ? Had she heard aright ? She felt almost crushed 
 under the immensity of what she thought she premised. 
 
 All the while, old Yvonne, in her corner, pricked up 
 her ears, feeling happiness approach. 
 
 “We could make a splice on it — a marriage, right off, 
 Mademoiselle Gaud, if you are still of the same mind ? ” 
 
 He listened here for her answer, which did not come. 
 What could stop her from pronouncing that “yes?” 
 He looked astonished and frightened, she could see 
 that. Her hands clutched the table edge. She had 
 turned quite white and her eyes were misty ; she was 
 voiceless, and looked like some maid dying in her 
 flower. 
 
 “ Well, Gaud, why don’t you answer ? ” said Granny 
 Yvonne, who had risen and come towards them. “ Don’t 
 
THE ESPOUSAL. 
 
 193 
 
 yon see, it rather surprises her, Monsieur Yann. You 
 must excuse her. She’ll think it over and answer you 
 later on. Sit you down a bit, Monsieur Yann, and 
 take a glass of cider with us.” 
 
 It was not surprise, but ecstasy which prevented 
 Gaud from answering ; no words at all came to her 
 relief. 
 
 So it really was true that he was good and kind- 
 hearted. 
 
 She knew him aright — the same true Yann, her 
 own, such as she had never ceased to see him, not- 
 withstanding his sternness and his rough refusal. 
 
 For a long time he had disdained her, but now he 
 accepted her, although she was poor. No doubt it had 
 been his wish all through ; he may have had a motive 
 for so acting, which she would know hereafter; but, 
 for the present, she had no intention of asking him his 
 meaning, or of reproaching him for her two years of 
 pining. 
 
 Besides, all that was past, ay, and forgotten now ; in 
 one single moment everything seemed carried away 
 before the delightful whirlwind which swept over her 
 life ! 
 
 Still speechless, she told him of her great love 
 
 and adoration for him by her sweet brimming eyes 
 
 N 
 
194 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 alone; she looked deeply and steadily at him, whilst 
 the copious shower of happy tears poured adown her 
 roseate cheeks. 
 
 “Well done ! and God bless you, my children,” said 
 Granny Moan. “ It’s thankful I be to Him, too, for 
 I’m glad to have been let grow so old to see this happy 
 thing afore I go.” 
 
 Still there they remained, standing before one another 
 with clasped hands, finding no words to utter ; knowing 
 of no word sweet enough, and no sentence worthy to 
 break that exquisite silence. 
 
 “Why don’t ye kiss one another, my children? 
 Lor’ ! but they’re dumb ! Hear me, what strange grand- 
 children I have here ! Pluck up, Gaud ; say some’at to 
 him, my dear. In my time lovers kissed when they 
 plighted their troth.” 
 
 Yann raised his hat, as if suddenly seized with a 
 vast heretofore unfelt reverence, before bending down 
 to kiss Gaud. 
 
 It seemed to him that this was the first kiss worthy 
 of the name he had ever given in his life. 
 
 She kissed him also, pressing her fresh lips, unused 
 to refinements of caresses, with her whole heart, to his 
 sea-bronzed cheek. 
 
THE ESPOUSAL. 
 
 195 
 
 Amongst the stones the cricket sang of happiness, 
 being right for this time. 
 
 And Sylvestre’s pitiful insignificant portrait seemed 
 to smile on them out of its black frame. 
 
 All things, in fact, seemed suddenly to throb with 
 life and with joy in the blighted cottage. 
 
 The very silence apparently burst into exquisite 
 music; and the pale winter twilight, creeping in at 
 the narrow window, became a wonderful unearthly 
 glow. 
 
 “ So we’ll go to the wedding when the Icelanders 
 return ; eh, my dear children ? ” 
 
 Gaud hung her head. 
 
 “ Iceland,” the “ Ltojpoldinej ' — so it was all real ! 
 whilst she had already forgotten the existence of those 
 terrible things which arose in their way. 
 
 “ When the Icelanders return.” 
 
 How long that anxious summer waiting would 
 seem. 
 
 Yann drummed on the floor with his foot feverishly 
 and rapidly. 
 
 He seemed to be in a great hurry to be off and 
 back, and was telling the days to know if, without 
 losing time, they would be able to get married before 
 his sailing, 
 
196 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 So many days to get the official papers filled and 
 signed ; so many for the banns : that would only 
 bring them up to the twentieth or twenty-fifth of 
 the month for the wedding, and if nothing rose in 
 the way, they could have a whole honeymoon week 
 together before he started. 
 
 “ I’m going to start by telling my father,” said he, 
 with as much haste as if each moment of their lives 
 were now numbered and precious. 
 
PART IV. 
 
 YANN’S FIRST WEDDING. 
 
PART IV. 
 
 YANN’S FIRST WEDDING. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE COURTING BY THE SEA. 
 
 All sweethearts like to sit on the bench at their 
 cottage door, when night falls. 
 
 Yann and Gand did that likewise. Every evening 
 they sat out together before the Moans’ cottage, on the 
 old granite seat, and talked love. 
 
 Others have the springtime, the soft shadow of the 
 trees, balmy evenings, and flowering rose-bushes ; they 
 had only the February twilight, which fell over the sea- 
 beaten land, strewn with eel-grass and stones. There 
 was no branch of verdure above their heads or around 
 them ; nothing but the immense sky, over which passed 
 the slowly wandering mists. And their flowers w T ere 
 brown sea-weeds, drawn up from the beach by the 
 fishers, as they dragged their nets along. 
 
 The winters are not very severe in this part of the 
 
200 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 country, being tempered by currents of the sea ; but, 
 notwithstanding that, the gloaming was often laden 
 with invisible icy rain, which fell upon their shoulders 
 as they sat together. But they remained there, feeling 
 warm and happy. The bench, which was over a 
 hundred years old, did not seem in the least surprised 
 at their love, having seen many other pairs in its time ; 
 it had listened to many soft words, which are always 
 the same on the lips of the young, from generation to 
 generation; and it had become used to seeing lovers 
 sit upon it again, when they returned to it old and 
 trembling ; but in the broad day, this time, to warm 
 themselves in the last sun they would see. 
 
 From time to time Granny Moan would put her head 
 out at the door to have a look at them, and try and 
 induce them to come in. 
 
 “ You’ll catch cold, my good children,” said she, “ and 
 then you’ll fall ill — Lord knows, it really isn’t sensible 
 to remain out so late.” 
 
 Cold! they cold? Were they conscious of anything 
 else besides the bliss of being together? 
 
 The passers-by in the evening down their pathway, 
 heard the soft murmur of two voices mingling with 
 the voice of the sea, down below at the foot of the cliffs. 
 It was a most harmonious music ; Gaud’s sweet fresh 
 
THE COURTING BY THE SEA. 
 
 201 
 
 voice alternated with Yann’s, which had soft caressing 
 notes in the lower tones. Their profiles could be 
 clearly distinguished on the granite wall against which 
 they reclined ; Gaud with her white headgear and slender 
 black-robed figure, and beside her the broad square 
 shoulders of her beloved. Behind and above rose the 
 ragged dome of the straw thatch, and the darkening, 
 infinite, and colourless waste of the sea and sky floated 
 over all. 
 
 Finally, they did go in to sit down by the hearth, 
 whereupon old Yvonne immediately nodded off to sleep, 
 and did not trouble the two lovers very much. So they 
 went on communing in a low voice, having to make up 
 for two years of silence; they had to hurry on their 
 courtship because it was to last so short a time. 
 
 It was arranged that they were to live with Granny 
 Moan, who would leave them the cottage in her will ; 
 for the present, they made no alterations in it, for want 
 of time, and put off their plan for embellishing their 
 poor lonely home until the fisherman’s return from 
 Iceland. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE SEAMAN’S SECRET. 
 
 One evening Yann amused himself by relating to his 
 affianced, a thousand things he had done, or which 
 had happened to her since their first meeting ; he even 
 enumerated to her the different dresses she had had, 
 and the jollifications to which she had been. 
 
 She listened in great surprise. How did he know 
 all this? Who would have thought of a man ever 
 paying any attention to such matters, and being 
 capable of remembering so clearly ? 
 
 But he only smiled at her in a mysterious way, and 
 went on mentioning other «facts to her, which she had 
 clean forgotten. 
 
 She did not interrupt him ; nay, she but let him 
 continue, whilst an unexpected delicious joy welled up 
 in her heart ; she began, at length, to divine and 
 understand everything. He, too, had loved — loved her, 
 through that weary time. She had been his constant 
 thought, as he was guilelessly confessing. But, in this 
 case, what had been his reason for repulsing her at first 
 and making her suffer so long ? 
 
THE OMINOUS WEDDING-DRESS. 
 
 203 
 
 There always remained this mystery which he had 
 promised to explain to her — yet still seemed to elude — 
 with a confused, incomprehensible smile. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE OMINOUS WEDDING-DRESS. 
 
 One fine day, the loving pair went over to Paimpol, 
 with Granny Moan, to buy the wedding dress. 
 
 Gaud could very easily have done over one of her 
 former town-lady’s dresses for the occasion. But Yann 
 had wanted to make her this present, and she had not 
 resisted too long the having % dress given by her 
 betrothed, and paid for by the money he had earned at 
 his fishing ; it seemed as if she were already his wife 
 by this act. 
 
 They chose black, for Gaud had not yet left off 
 mourning for her father; but Yann did not find any of 
 the stuffs they placed before them good enough. He 
 was no little overbearing with the shopman ; he, who 
 formerly would never have set his foot inside a shop, 
 wanted to manage everything himself, even to the very 
 fashion of the dress. He wished it adorned with broad 
 bands of velvet, so that it would be very fine, in his mind. 
 
CHAPTER IY. 
 
 FLOWER OF THE THORN. 
 
 One evening as these lovers sat out on tlieir stone 
 bench in the solitude over which the night fell, they 
 suddenly perceived a hawthorn bush, which grew soli- 
 tarily between the rocks, by the side of the road, covered 
 with tiny flowered tufts. 
 
 “It looks as if ’twas in bloom,” said Yann. 
 
 They drew near to inspect it. 
 
 It was in full flower, indeed. As they could not see 
 very well in the twilight, they touched the tiny blooms, 
 wet with mist. Then the first impression of spring 
 came to them at the same time they noticed this ; the 
 days had already lengthened, the air was warmer, and 
 the night more luminous. But how forward this 
 particular bush was! They could not find another 
 like it anywhere around, not one ! It had blossomed, 
 you see, expressly for them, for the celebration of their 
 loving plight. 
 
 “ Oh ! let us gather some more,” said Yann. 
 
 Groping in the dark he cut a nosegay with the stout 
 sailor’s knife which he always wore in his belt, and 
 paring off all the thorns, he placed it in Gaud’s bosom. 
 
FLOWER OF THE THORN. 
 
 205 
 
 “ You look like a bride now,” said be, stepping back to 
 judge of the effect, notwithstanding the deepening dusk. 
 
 At their feet the calm sea rose and fell over the 
 shingle with an intermittent swash, regular as the 
 breathing of a sleeper; for it seemed indifferent or 
 ever favourable to the love-making going on hard by. 
 
 In expectation of these evenings the days appeared 
 long to them, and when they bade each other good-bye 
 at ten o’clock, they felt a kind of discouragement, be- 
 cause it was all so soon over. 
 
 They had to hurry with the official documents for 
 fear of not being ready in time, and of letting their 
 happiness slip by until the autumn, or even Uncertainty. 
 
 Their evening courtship in that mournful spot, lulled 
 by the continual even wash of the sea, with that feverish 
 impression of the flight of time, was almost gloomy and 
 ominous. They were like no other lovers ; more serious 
 and restless were they in their love than the common 
 run. 
 
 Yet Yann never told her what mysterious thing had 
 kept him away from her for these two lonely years ; 
 and after he returned home of a night, Gaud grew 
 uneasy as before, although he loved her perfectly — 
 this she knew. It is true that he had loved her all 
 along, but not as now ; love grew stronger in his heart 
 
206 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 and mind, like a tide rising and overbrimming. He 
 had never known this kind of love before. 
 
 Sometimes on their stone seat he laid down, resting 
 his head in Gaud’s lap like a caressing child, till, sud- 
 denly remembering propriety, he would draw himself 
 up erect. He would have liked to lie on the very 
 ground at her feet, and remain there with his brow 
 pressed to the hem of her garments. Excepting the 
 brotherly kiss he gave her when he came and went, he 
 did not dare to embrace her. He adored that invisible 
 spirit in her, which appeared in the very sound of her 
 pure, tranquil voice, the expression of her smile, and in 
 her clear eye. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 THE COST OF OBSTINACY. 
 
 One rainy evening they were sitting side by side near 
 the hearth, and Granny Moan was asleep opposite to 
 them. The fire' flames, dancing over the branches on 
 the hearth, projected their magnified shadows on the 
 beams overhead. 
 
 They spoke to one another in that low voice of all 
 lovers. But upon this particular evening, their con versa- 
 
THE COST OF OBSTINACY. 
 
 20 7 
 
 tion was now and again broken by long troubled silence. 
 He, in particular, said very little and lowered his head 
 with a faint smile, avoiding Gaud’s inquiring eyes. 
 
 For she had been pressing him with questions all the 
 evening concerning that mystery which he positively 
 would not divulge ; and this time he felt himself 
 cornered. She was too quick for him, and had fully 
 made up her mind to learn ; no possible shifts could 
 get him out of telling her now. 
 
 “ Was it any bad tales told about me ? ” she asked. 
 
 He tried to answer “yes,” and faltered : “ Oh ! there 
 was always plenty of rubbish babbled in Paimpol and 
 Ploubazlanec.” 
 
 She asked what, but he could not answer her; so 
 then she thought of something else. 
 
 “ Was it about my style of dress, Yann ? ” 
 
 Yes, of course, that had had something to do with it ; 
 at one time she had dressed too grandly to be the wife 
 of a simple fisherman. But he was obliged to acknow- 
 ledge that that was not all. 
 
 “Was it because at that time we passed for very 
 rich people, and you were afraid of being refused ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, no ! not that.” 
 
 He said this with such simple self-confidence that 
 Gaud was amused. 
 
2oS 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 Then fell another silence, during which the moaning 
 of the sea-winds was heard outside. Looking atten- 
 tively at him, a fresh idea struck her, and her ex- 
 pression changed. 
 
 “ If not anything of that sort, Yann, what was it ? ” 
 demanded she, suddenly, looking at him fair in the eyes, 
 with the irresistible questioning look of one who guesses 
 the truth, and could dispense with confirmation. 
 
 He turned aside, laughing outright. 
 
 So at last she had, indeed, guessed aright : he could 
 never give her a real reason, because there was none to 
 give. He had simply “ played the mule ” (as Sylvestre 
 had said long ago). But everybody had teased him 
 so much about that Gaud, his parents, Sylvestre, his 
 Iceland mates, and even Gaud herself. Hence he had 
 stubbornly said no, but knew well enough in the bottom 
 of his heart that when nobody thought any more about 
 the hollow mystery it would become “ yes.” 
 
 So it was on account of Yann’s childishness that 
 Gaud had been languishing, forsaken for two long 
 years, and had longed to die. 
 
 At first Yann laughed, but now he looked at Gaud 
 with kind eyes, questioning deeply. Would she forgive 
 him? He felt such remorse for having made her 
 suffer. Would she forgive him ? 
 
THE COST OF OBSTINACY. 
 
 209 
 
 “ It’s my temper that does it, Gaud,” said he. “ At 
 home with my folk, it’s the same thing. Sometimes, 
 when I’m stubborn, I remain a whole week angered 
 against them, without speaking to anybody. Yet you 
 know how I love them, and I always end by doing what 
 they wish, like a boy. If you think that I was happy 
 to live unmarried, you’re mistaken. No, it couldn’t 
 have lasted any way, Gaud, you may be sure.” 
 
 Of course, she forgave him. As she felt the soft 
 tears fall, she knew they were the outflow of her last 
 pangs vanishing before Yann’s confession. Besides, 
 the present would never have been so happy without 
 all her suffering; that being over, she was almost 
 pleased at having gone through that time of trial. 
 
 Everything was finally cleared up between them, in 
 a very unexpected though complete manner; there 
 remained no clouds between their souls. He drew her 
 towards him, and they remained some time with their 
 cheeks pressed close, requiring no farther explanations. 
 So chaste was their embrace, that the old grandam 
 suddenly awaking, they remained before her as they 
 were without any confusion or embarrassment. 
 
 o 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE BRIDAL. 
 
 It was six days before the sailing for Iceland. Their 
 wedding procession was returning from Ploubazlanec 
 Church, driven before a furious wind, under a sombre, 
 rain-laden sky. 
 
 They looked very handsome, nevertheless, as they 
 walked along as in a dream, arm-in-arm, like king and 
 queen leading a long cortege. Calm, reserved and 
 grave, they seemed to see nothing about them ; as if 
 they were above ordinary life and everybody else. The 
 very wind seemed to respect them, whilst behind them 
 their “ train” was a jolly medley of laughing couples, 
 tumbled and buffeted by the angry western gale. 
 
 Many people were present, overflowing with young 
 life ; others turning grey, but these still smiled as they 
 thought of their wedding-day and younger years. 
 Granny Yvonne was there and following, too, panting 
 a little, but something like happy, hanging on the arm 
 of an old uncle of Yann’s, who was paying her old- 
 fashioned compliments. She wore a grand new cap, 
 bought for the occasion, and her tiny shawl, which had 
 been dyed a third time, and black, because of Sylvestre. 
 
THE BRIDAL. 
 
 21 1 
 
 The wind worried everybody ; dresses and skirts, 
 bonnets and coifs, were similarly tossed about merci- 
 lessly. 
 
 At the church-door, the newly married couple, pur- 
 suant to custom, had bought two nosegays of artificial 
 flowers, to complete their bridal attire. Yann had 
 fastened his on anyhow upon his broad chest, but he 
 was of those men whom anything becomes. As to Gaud, 
 there was still something of the lady about the manner 
 in which she had placed the rude flowers in her bodice, 
 as of old very close fitting to her unrivalled form. 
 
 The violin player, who led the whole band, bewildered 
 by the wind, played at random ; his tunes were heard 
 by fits and starts betwixt the noisy gusts, and rose as 
 shrill as the screaming of a sea-gull. All Ploubazlanec 
 had turned out to look at them. This marriage seemed 
 to excite people’s sympathy, and many had come from 
 far around ; at each turn of the road there were groups 
 stationed to see them pass. Nearly all Yann’s mates, 
 the Icelanders of Paimpol, were there. They cheered 
 the bride and bridegroom as they passed ; Gaud returned 
 their greeting, bowing slightly like a town lady, with 
 serious grace ; and all along the way she was greatly 
 admired. 
 
 The darkest and most secluded hamlets around, even 
 
212 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 those in the woods, had been emptied of all their beggars, 
 cripples, wastrels, poor, and idiots on crutches; these 
 wretches scattered along the road, with accordions and 
 hurdy-gurdies ; they held out their hands and hats to 
 receive the alms which Yann threw to them with his 
 own noble look and Gaud with her beautiful queenly 
 smile. Some of these poor waifs were very old and 
 wore grey locks on heads which had never held much ; 
 crouching in the hollows of the roadside, they were of 
 the same colour as the earth from which they seemed 
 to have sprung, but so unformed as soon to be returned 
 without ever having had any human thoughts. Their 
 wandering glances were as indecipherable as the 
 mystery of their abortive and useless existences. With- 
 out comprehending, they looked at the merrymakers’ 
 line pass by. It went on beyond Pors-Even and the 
 Gaoses’ home. They meant to follow the ancient bridal 
 tradition of Ploubazlanec and go to the chapel of La 
 Trinite, which is situated at the very end of the Breton 
 county. 
 
 At the foot of the outermost cliff, it rests on a 
 threshold of low-lying rocks close to the water, and 
 seems almost to belong to the sea already. A narrow 
 goats-path leads down to it through masses of granite. 
 
 The wedding party spread over the incline of the 
 
THE BRIDAL. 
 
 21 3 
 
 forsaken cape head ; and amongst the rocks and stones, 
 happy words were lost in the roar of the wind and the 
 surf. 
 
 It was useless to try and reach the chapel ; in this 
 boisterous weather the path was not safe, the sea came 
 too close with its high rollers. Its white-crested spouts 
 sprang up in the air, so as to break over everything in 
 a ceaseless shower. 
 
 Yann, who had advanced the farthest with Gaud on 
 his arm, was the first to retreat before the spray. 
 Behind, his wedding party had remained strewn about 
 the rocks, in a semicircle ; it seemed as if he had come 
 to present his wife to the sea, which received her with 
 scowling, ill-boding aspect. 
 
 Turning round, he caught sight of the violinist 
 perched on a grey rock, trying vainly to play his dance 
 tunes between gusts of wind. 
 
 “ Put up your music, my lad,” said Yann ; “ old 
 Neptune is playing us a livelier tune than yours.” 
 
 A heavily beating shower, which had threatened 
 since morning, began to fall. There was a mad rush 
 then, accompanied by outcries and laughter, to climb 
 up the bluff and take refuge at the Gaoses. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE DISCORDANT NOTE. 
 
 The wedding breakfast was given at Yann’s parents, 
 because Gaud’s home was so poor. It took place up- 
 stairs in tke great new room. Five-and-twenty guests 
 sat down round tke newly-married pair — sisters and 
 brothers, cousin Gaos tke pilot, Guermeur, Keraez, 
 Yvon Duff, all of tke old Marie’s crew, wko were now 
 tke Ldopoldines ; four very pretty bridesmaids, witk 
 tkeir kair-plaits wound round tkeir ears, like tke 
 empresses’ in ancient Byzantium, and tkeir modem 
 white caps, shaped like sea-shells ; and four best men, 
 all broad-shouldered Icelanders, witk large proud eyes. 
 
 Downstairs, of course, there was eating and cooking 
 going on; tke whole train of tke wedding procession 
 had gathered there in disorder ; and the extra servants, 
 hired from Paimpol, well-nigh lost their senses before 
 the mighty lumbering up of the capacious hearth with 
 pots and pans. 
 
 Yann’s parents would have wished a richer wife for 
 their son, naturally, but Gaud was known now as 
 a good, courageous girl ; and then in spite of her 
 lost fortune, she was the greatest beauty in the 
 
THE DISCORDANT NOTE. 
 
 215 
 
 country, and it flattered them to see the couple so 
 well matched. 
 
 The old father was inclined to be merry after the 
 
 soup, and spoke of the bringing up of his fourteen 
 
 little Gaoses ; but they were all doing well, thanks to 
 
 the ten thousand francs which had made them well off. 
 
 Neighbour Guermeur related the tricks he played in 
 
 the navy, yarns about China, the West Indies, and 
 
 Brazil, making the young ones who would be off* some 
 
 day, open their eyes in wonderment. 
 
 u There is a cry against the sea-service,” said the old 
 
 sailor, laughing, u but a man can have fine fun in it.” 
 
 The weather did not clear up ; on the contrary, the 
 
 wind and rain raged through the gloomy night; and 
 
 in spite of the care taken, some of the guests were 
 
 fidgetty about their smacks anchored in the harbour, 
 
 and spoke of getting up to go and see if all was right. 
 
 But here a more jovial sound than ever was heard from 
 
 downstairs, where the younger members of the party 
 * 
 
 were supping together; cheers of joy and peals ot 
 laughter ascended. The little cousins were beginning 
 to feel exhilarated by the cider. 
 
 Boiled and roasted meats had been served up with 
 poultry, different kinds of fish, omelets and pancakes. 
 The debate had turned upon fishery and smuggling, 
 
2l6 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 and the best means of fooling the coast-guardsmen, 
 who, as we all know, are the sworn enemies of honest 
 seafarers. 
 
 Upstairs, at the grand table, old circumnavigators 
 went so far as to relate droll stories, in the vernacular. 
 
 But the wind was raging altogether too strong ; for 
 the windows shook with a terrible clatter, and the man 
 telling the tale had hurriedly ended to go and see to 
 his smack. 
 
 Then another went on : — 
 
 “ When I was bo’s’n’s mate aboard of the Zdnobie, 
 a- lying at Aden, and a- doing the duty of a corporal of 
 marines, by the same token, you ought to ha’ seen the 
 ostridge feather traders a-trying to scramble up over 
 the side. ( Imitating the broken talk ) 1 Bon-joo, cap’n ! 
 we’re not thiefs — we’re honest merchants ’ — Honest, my 
 eye ! with a sweep of the bucket, a purtending to draw 
 some water up, I sent ’em all flying back an oar’s 
 length. c Honest merchants, are ye/ says I, c then 
 send us up a bunch of honest feathers first — with a hard 
 dollar or two in the core of it, d’ye see, and then I’ll 
 believe in your honesty ! ’ Why, I could ha’ made my 
 fortun’ out of them beggars, if I hadn’t been born and 
 brought up honest myself, and but a sucking-dove in 
 wisdom, saying nothing of my having a sweetheart at 
 
THE DISCORDANT NOTE . 
 
 21 7 
 
 Toulon in the millinery line, who could have used any 
 quantity of feathers ” 
 
 Ha ! here’s one of Yann’s little brothers, a future 
 Iceland fisherman, with a fresh pink face and bright 
 eyes, who is suddenly taken ill from having drunk too 
 much cider. So little Laumec has to be carried off, 
 which cuts short the story of the milliner and the 
 feathers. 
 
 The wind wailed in the chimney like an evil spirit 
 in torment ; with fearful strength, it shook the whole 
 house on its stone foundation. 
 
 “It strikes me the wind is stirred up, acos we’re 
 enjoying of ourselves,” said the pilot cousin. 
 
 “No, it’s the sea that’s wrathy,” corrected Yann, 
 smiling at Gaud, “ because I promised I’d be wedded 
 to her ” 
 
 A strange languor seemed to envelop them both ; 
 they spoke to one another in a low voice, apart, in the 
 midst of the general gaiety. Yann, knowing thoroughly 
 the effect of wine, did not drink at all. Now and then 
 he turned dull too, thinking of Sylvestre. It was an 
 understood thing that there was to be no dancing, on 
 account of him and of Gaud’s dead father. 
 
 It was the dessert now ; the singing would soon 
 begin. But first, there were the prayers to say, for 
 
218 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 the dead of the family ; this form is never omitted, at 
 all wedding-feasts, and is a solemn duty. So when old 
 Gaos rose and uncovered his white head, there was a 
 dead silence around. 
 
 “ This,” said he, “ is for Guillaume Gaos, my father.” 
 Making the sign of the cross, he began the Lord’s 
 prayer in Latin : 
 
 “ Pater noster , qui es in ccelis , sanctificatur nomen 
 tunm ” 
 
 The silence included all, even to the joyful little ones 
 downstairs, and every voice was repeating in an under- 
 tone the same eternal -words. 
 
 “ This is for Yves and Jean Gaos, my two brothers, 
 who were lost in the Sea of Iceland. This for Pierre 
 Gaos, my son, shipwrecked aboard the Zdlie.” When 
 all the dead Gaoses had had their prayers, he turned 
 towards grandmother Moan, saying, “ This one is for 
 Sylvestre Moan.” 
 
 Yann wept as he recited another prayer. 
 
 “ Sed libera nos a malo. Amen ! ” 
 
 Then the songs began ; sea-songs learnt in the navy, 
 on the forecastle, where we all know there are rare 
 good vocalists. 
 
THE DISCORDANT NOTE. 
 
 219 
 
 “ Tin noble corps, pas moins que celui des Zouaves ,” See. 
 
 A noble and a gallant lad 
 The Zouave is, we know, 
 
 But, capping him for bravery, 
 
 The sailor stands, I trow. 
 
 Hurrah, hurrah ! long life to him, 
 
 Whose glory never can grow dim ! 
 
 This was sung by one of the bride’s supporters, in a 
 feeling tone, which went to the soul ; and the chorus 
 was taken up by other fine manly voices. 
 
 But the newly- wedded pair seemed to listen as from 
 a distance. When they looked at one another, their 
 eyes shone with dulled brilliance, like that of trans- 
 parently-shaded lamps. They spoke in even a lower 
 voice, and still held each other’s hands. Gaud bent 
 her head, too, gradually overcome by a vast delightful 
 terror, before her master. 
 
 The pilot cousin went around the table, serving out 
 a wine of his own ; he had brought it with much care, 
 hugging and patting the bottle, which ought not be 
 shaken, he said. He told the story of it. One day, 
 out fishing, they saw a cask a-floating ; it was too big to 
 haul on board, so they had stove in the head and filled 
 all the pots and cans they had, with most of its contents. 
 
220 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN . 
 
 It was impossible to take all, so they had signalled to 
 other pilots and fishers, and all the sails in sight had 
 flocked round the flotsam. 
 
 “ And I know more than one old sobersides who was 
 gloriously topheavy when we got back to Pors-Even at 
 night ! ” he chuckled liquorishly. 
 
 The wind still went on with its fearful din. 
 
 Downstairs the children were dancing in rings; 
 except some of the youngest, sent to bed ; but the 
 others, who were romping about, led by little Fantec 
 (Francis) and Laume’c (Guillaume), wanted to go and 
 play outside. Every minute they were opening the 
 door and letting in furious gusts, which blew out the 
 candles. 
 
 The pilot cousin went on with his story. Forty 
 bottles had fallen to his lot, he said. He begged them 
 all to say nothing about it, because of “ Monsieur le 
 Commissaire de V Inscription Maritime” who would 
 surely make a fuss over the undeclared find. 
 
 “ But, d’ye see,” he went on, “it sarved the lubbers 
 right to heave over such a vallyble cask or let it ’scape 
 the lashings, for it’s a superior quality, with sartinly 
 more jinywine grape-juice in it than in all the wine- 
 merchants’ cellars of Paimpol. Goodness knows whence 
 it came — this here castaway liquor ! ” 
 
THE DISCORDANT NOTE. 
 
 22 I 
 
 It was very strong and rich in colour, dashed with 
 sea-water, and had the flavour of cod-pickle, but 
 in spite of that, relishable; and several bottles were 
 emptied. 
 
 Some heads began to spin; the Babel of voices 
 became more confused, and the lads kissed the lasses 
 less surreptitiously. 
 
 The songs joyously continued; but the winds would 
 not moderate, and the seamen exchanged tokens of 
 apprehension about the bad weather increasing. 
 
 The sinister clamour without was indeed worse than 
 ever. It had become one continuous howl, deep and 
 threatening, as if a thousand mad creatures were yelling 
 with full throats and outstretched necks. 
 
 One might imagine heavy sea-guns shooting out 
 their deafening boom in the distance, but that was 
 only the sea hammering the coast of Ploubazlanec 
 on all points; undoubtedly it did not appear con- 
 tented, and Gaud felt her heart shrink at this dismal 
 music, which no one had ordered for their wedding- 
 feast. 
 
 Towards midnight, during a calm, Yann, who had 
 risen softly, beckoned his wife to come to speak to 
 him. 
 
 It was to go home. She blushed, filled with shame, 
 
222 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 and confused at having left her seat so promptly. 
 She said it would be impolite to go away directly and 
 leave the others. 
 
 “ Not a bit on it,” replied Yann, “ my father allows 
 it ; we may go,” and away he carried her. 
 
 They hurried away stealthily. 
 
 Outside they found themselves in the cold, the bitter 
 wind, and the miserable, agitated night. They began 
 to run hand-in-hand. 
 
 From the height of the cliff-path, one could imagine, 
 without seeing it, the furious open sea, whence arose all 
 this hubbub. They ran along, the wind cutting their 
 faces, both bowed before the angry gusts, and obliged 
 to put their hands over their mouths to cover their 
 breathing, which the wind had completely taken away 
 at first. 
 
 He held her up by the waist at the outset, to keep 
 her dress from trailing on the ground, and her fine new 
 shoes from being spoilt in the water, which streamed 
 about their feet, and next he held her round the neck, 
 too, and continued to run on still faster. He could 
 hardly realise that he loved her so much ! To think 
 that she was now twenty-three and he nearly twenty- 
 eight; that they might have been married two years 
 ago, and as happy then as to-night ! 
 
THE DISCORDANT NOTE. 
 
 223 
 
 At last they arrived at home, that poor lodging, 
 with its damp flooring and moss-grown roof. They lit 
 the candle which the wind blew out twice. 
 
 Old grandam Moan, who had been taken home 
 before the singing began, was there. She had been 
 sleeping for the last two hours in her bunk, the flaps 
 of which were shut. They drew near with respect and 
 peeped through the fretwork of her press, to bid her 
 good-night, if by chance she were not asleep. But 
 they only perceived her still venerable face and closed 
 eyes ; she slept, or she feigned to do so, not to disturb 
 them. 
 
 They felt they were alone then. 
 
 Both trembled as they clasped hands. He bent for- 
 ward to kiss her lips; but Gaud turned them aside, 
 through ignorance of that kind of kiss ; and as chastely 
 as on the evening of their betrothal, she pressed hers 
 to Yann’s cheek, which was chilled, almost frozen, by 
 the wind. 
 
 It was so bitterly cold in their poor, low- roofed 
 cottage. If Gaud had only remained rich, what happi- 
 ness she would have felt in arranging a pretty room, 
 not like this one on the bare ground. 
 
 She was scarcely yet used to these rugged granite 
 walls, and the rough look of all things around ; but her 
 
AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 224 
 
 Yann was there now, and by his presence everything 
 was changed and transfigured. She only saw her 
 husband. Their lips met now; no turning aside. 
 Still standing with their arms intertwined tightly to 
 draw themselves together, they remained dumb, in the 
 perfect ecstasy of a never-ending kiss. Their fluttering 
 breath commingled, and both quivered as if in a burn- 
 ing fever. They seemed without power to tear them- 
 selves apart, and knew nothing and desired nothing 
 beyond that long kiss of consecrated love. 
 
 She drew herself away, suddenly agitated. 
 
 “ Nay, Yann! Grannie Yvonne might see us,” she 
 faltered. 
 
 But he, with a smile, sought his wife’s lips again and 
 fastened his own upon them, like a thirsty man whose 
 cup of fresh water had been taken from him. 
 
 The movement they had made broke the charm of 
 delightful hesitation. Yann, who, at the first, was 
 going to kneel to her as before a saint, felt himself 
 fired again. He glanced stealthily towards the old 
 oaken bunks, irritated at being so close to the old 
 woman, and seeking some way not to be spied upon, 
 but ever without breaking away from those exquisite 
 lips. 
 
 He stretched forth his arm behind him, and with the 
 
THE DISCORDANT NOTE. 
 
 225 
 
 back of bis hand dashed out the light, as if the wind had 
 done it. Then he snatched her up in his arms. Still 
 holding her close, with his mouth continually pressed 
 to hers, he seemed like a wild lion with his teeth 
 embedded in his prey. For her part she gave herself 
 up entirely, to that body and soul seizure which 
 was imperious and without possible resistance, even 
 though it remained soft as a great all-comprising 
 embrace. 
 
 Around them, for their wedding hymn, the same 
 invisible orchestra played on — 
 
 “ Hoo-ooh-hoo ! ” 
 
 At times the wind bellowed out in its deep noise, 
 with a tremolo of rage ; and again repeated its threats, 
 as if with refined cruelty, in low sustained tones, flute- 
 like as the hoot of an owl. 
 
 The broad, fathomless grave of all sailors lay nigh 
 to them, restless and ravenous, drumming against the 
 cliffs with its muffled boom. 
 
 One night or another Yann would have to be caught 
 in that maw, and battle with it in the midst of the 
 terror of ice as well. Both knew this plainly. 
 
 But what mattered that now to them on land, 
 
 sheltered from the sea’s futile fury. In their poor 
 
 gloomy cottage, over which tempest rushed, they 
 
 p 
 
226 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 scorned all that was hostile, intoxicated and delight- 
 fully fortified against the whole by the eternal magic 
 of love. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE BLISSFUL WEEK. 
 
 For six days they were husband and wife. In this 
 time of leave-taking the preparations for the Iceland 
 season occupied everybody. The women heaped up the 
 salt for the pickle in the holds of the vessels ; the men 
 saw to the masts and rigging. Yann’s mother and 
 sisters worked from morning till night at the making 
 of the sou’westers and oilskin waterproofs. 
 
 The weather was dull, and the sea, forefeeling the 
 approach of the equinoctial gales, was restless and 
 heaving. 
 
 Gaud went through these inexorable preparations 
 with agony ; counting the fleeting hours of the day, 
 and looking forward to the night, when work was over, 
 and she would have her Yann to herself. 
 
 Would he leave her every year in this way? 
 
 She hoped to be able to keep him back, but she did 
 
THE BLISSFUL WEEK. 
 
 227 
 
 not dare to speak to him about that wish as yet. He 
 loved her passionately, too ; he had never known any- 
 thing like this affection before ; it was such a fresh, 
 trusting tenderness that the same caresses and fondlings 
 always seemed as if novel and unknown heretofore ; 
 and their intoxication of love continued to increase, 
 and never seemed — never was satiated. 
 
 What charmed and surprised her in her mate was 
 his tenderness and boyishness. This the Yann in love, 
 whom she had sometimes seen at Paimpol most con- 
 temptuous towards the girls. On the contrary, to her 
 he always maintained that kindly courtesy which 
 seemed natural to him, and she adored that beautiful 
 smile which came to him whenever their eyes met. 
 Among these simple folk there exists the feeling of 
 absolute respect for the dignity of the wife ; there is 
 an ocean between her and the sweetheart. Gaud was 
 essentially the wife. She was sorely troubled in her 
 happiness, however, for it seemed something too un- 
 hoped for, as unstable as a joyful dream. Besides, 
 would this love be lasting in Yann ? She remembered 
 sometimes of his former flames, his fancies and different 
 love adventures, and then she grew fearful. Would 
 he always cherish that infinite tenderness and sweet 
 respect for her ? 
 
228 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 Six days of a wedded life, for such a love as theirs, 
 was nothing ; only a fevered instalment taken from the 
 married life term, which might be so long before them 
 yet ! They had scarcely had leisure to be together at 
 all and understand that they really belonged to one 
 another. All their plans of life together, of peaceful 
 joy, and settling down, was forcedly put off till the 
 fisherman's return. 
 
 No ! at any price she would stop him from going to 
 this dreadful Iceland another year ! But how should 
 she manage ? And what could they do for a livelihood, 
 being both so poor? Then again he so dearly loved 
 the sea. But in spite of all, she would try and keep 
 him home another season ; she would use all her power, 
 intelligence, and heart to do so. Was she to be the 
 wife of an Icelander, to watch each springtide approach 
 with sadness, and pass the whole summer in painful 
 anxiety ? no, now that she loved him, above everything 
 that she could imagine, she felt seized with an immense 
 terror at the thought of years to come thus robbed of 
 the better part. 
 
 They had one spring day together — only one. It was 
 the day before the sailing; all the stores had been 
 shipped, and Yann remained the whole day with her. 
 They strolled along, arm-in-arm, through the lanes, 
 
THE BLISSFUL WEEK. 
 
 229 
 
 like sweethearts again, very close to one another, 
 murmuring a thousand tender things. The good folk 
 smiled, as they saw them pass, saying — 
 
 “ It’s Gaud, with tall Yann from Pors-Even. They 
 were married only t’other day ! ” 
 
 This last day was really spring. It was strange and 
 wonderful to behold this universal serenity. Not a 
 single cloud marred the lately flecked sky. The wind 
 did not blow anywhere. The sea had become quite 
 tranquil, and was of a pale, even blue tint. The sun 
 shone with glaring white brilliancy, and the rough 
 Breton land seemed bathed in its light, as in a rare 
 delicate ether ; it seemed to brighten and revive even in 
 the utmost distance. The air had a delicious, balmy 
 scent, as of summer itself, and seemed as if it were 
 always going to remain so, and never know any more 
 gloomy, thunderous days. The capes and bays over 
 which the changeful shadows of the clouds no longer 
 passed, were outlined in strong steady lines in the sun- 
 light, and appeared to rest also in the long-during calm. 
 All this made their loving festival sweeter and longer 
 drawn out. The early flowers already appeared : 
 primroses, and frail, scentless violets grew along the 
 hedgerows. 
 
 When Gaud asked : 
 
230 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 “ How long then are you going to love me, 
 Yann?” 
 
 He answered, surprisedly, looking at her full in the 
 face with his frank eyes : 
 
 “ Why, for ever, Gaud.” 
 
 That word, spoken so simply by his fierce lips, seemed 
 to have its true sense of eternity. 
 
 She leaned on his arm. In the enchantment of her 
 realised dream, she pressed close to him, always anxious, 
 feeling that he was as flighty as a wild sea-bird. To- 
 morrow he would take his soaring on the open sea. 
 And it was too late now, she could do nothing to 
 stop him. 
 
 From the cliff-paths where they wandered, they 
 could see the whole of this sea-bound country ; which 
 seems almost treeless, strewn with low, stunted bush 
 and boulders. Here and there fishers’ huts were 
 scattered over the rocks, their high battered thatches 
 made green by the cropping up of new mosses ; and in 
 the extreme distance, the sea, like a boundless tran- 
 sparency, stretched out in a never-ending horizon, 
 which seemed to encircle everything. 
 
 She enjoyed telling him about all the wonderful 
 things she had seen in Paris, but he was very con- 
 temptuous, and was not interested. 
 
THE BLISSFUL WEEK. 
 
 231 
 
 “It's so far in from the coast,” said he, “and 
 there is so much land between, that it must be un- 
 healthy. So many houses and so many people, too, 
 about ! There must be lots of ills and ails in those 
 big towns ; no, I shouldn’t like to live there, certain 
 sure ! ” 
 
 She smiled, surprised to see this giant so simple a 
 fellow. 
 
 Sometimes they came across hollows where trees 
 grew and seemed to defy the winds. There was no view 
 here, only dead leaves scattered beneath their feet and 
 chilly dampness; the narrow way, bordered on both 
 sides by green reeds, seemed very dismal under the 
 shadow of the branches; hemmed in by the walls of 
 some dark lonely hamlet, rotting with old age, and 
 slumbering in this hollow. 
 
 A crucifix arose inevitably before them, among the 
 dead branches, with its colossal image of Our Saviour 
 in weather-worn wood, its features wrung with His 
 endless agony. 
 
 Then the pathway rose again, and they found 
 themselves commanding the view of immense horizons 
 — and breathed the bracing air of sea-heights once 
 more. 
 
 He, to match her, spoke of Iceland, its pale nightless 
 
232 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 summers and sun which never set. Gaud did not 
 understand and asked him to explain. 
 
 “ The sun goes all round,” said he, waving his arm 
 in the direction of the distant circle of the blue waters. 
 “ It always remains very low, because it has no strength 
 to rise ; at midnight, it drags a bit through the water, 
 but soon gets up and begins its journey round again. 
 Sometimes the moon appears too, at the other side of 
 the sky ; then they move together, and you can’t very 
 well tell one from t’other, for they are much alike in 
 that queer country.” 
 
 To see the sun at midnight ! How very far off 
 Iceland must be for such marvels to happen. And the 
 fjords ? Gaud had read that word several times written 
 amongst the names of the dead in the chapel of the 
 shipwrecked, and it seemed to portend some grisly 
 thing. 
 
 “ The fjords,” said Yann, “ they are only broad bays, 
 like Paimpol, for instance ; only they are surrounded 
 by high mountains, so high that they seem endless, 
 because of the clouds upon their tops. It’s a sorry 
 country, I can tell you, darling. Nothing but stones. 
 The people of Iceland know of no such things as trees. 
 In the middle of August, when our fishery is over, it’s 
 quite time to return, for the nights begin again then, 
 
THE BLISSFUL WEEK. 
 
 233 
 
 and they lengthen out very quickly; the sun falls 
 below the earth without being able to get up, and that 
 night lasts all the winter through. Talking of night,” 
 he continued, “ there’s a little burying-ground on the 
 coast in one of the fjords, for Paimpol men who have 
 died during the season or went down at sea; it’s con- 
 secrated earth, just like at Pors-Even, and the dead 
 have wooden crosses just like ours here, with their 
 names painted on them. The two Goazdious from 
 Ploubazlanec lie there, and Guillaume Moan, Sylvestre’s 
 grandfather.” 
 
 She could almost see the little churchyard at the foot 
 of the solitary capes, under the pale rose-coloured light 
 of those never-ending days, and she thought of those 
 distant dead, under the ice and dark winding-sheets of 
 the long night-like winters. 
 
 “ Do you fish the whole time,” she asked, “ without 
 ever stopping ? ” 
 
 ie The whole time, though we somehow get on with 
 work on deck, for the sea isn’t always fine out there. 
 Well ! of course we’re dead beat when the night comes, 
 but it gives a man an appetite — bless you, dearest, we 
 regularly gobble down our meals.” 
 
 “ Do you never feel sick of it ? ” 
 
 “ Never,” returned he, with an air of unshaken faith 
 
234 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 which pained her ; “ on deck, on the open sea, the time 
 never seems long to a man — never ! ” 
 
 She hung her head, feeling sadder than ever, and 
 more and more vanquished by her only enemy, the 
 
 sea. 
 
PART V 
 
 THE SECOND WEDDING. 
 
PART V. 
 
 THE SECOND WEDDING. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE START. 
 
 After the spring day they had enjoyed, the falling 
 night brought back the impression of winter, and they 
 returned to dine before their fire, which was flaming 
 with new branches. It was their last meal together; 
 but they had some hours yet, and were not saddened. 
 
 After dinner, they recovered the sweet impression of 
 spring again, out on the Pors-Even road ; for the air 
 was calm, almost genial, and the twilight still lingered 
 over the land. 
 
 They went to see the family — for Yann to bid 
 good-bye — and returned early, as they wished to rise 
 with break of day. 
 
 The next morning the quay of Paimpol was crowded 
 with people. The departures for Iceland had begun the 
 day before, and with each tide there was a fresh fleet 
 
AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 238 
 
 off. On this particular morning, fifteen vessels were to 
 start with the Ldopoldine, and the wives or mothers of 
 the sailors were all present at the getting under sail. 
 
 Gaud, who was now the wife of an Icelander, was 
 much surprised to find herself among them all, and 
 brought thither for the same fateful purpose. Her 
 position seemed to have become so intensified within the 
 last few days, that she had barely had time to realise 
 things as they were ; gliding irresistibly down an 
 incline, she had arrived at this inexorable conclusion 
 that she must bear up for the present, and do as the 
 others did, who were accustomed to it. 
 
 She had never before been present at these fare- 
 wellings ; hence, all was new to her. 
 
 Among these women there was none like her, and 
 she felt her difference and isolation. Her past life, as 
 a lady, was still remembered, and caused her to be set 
 aside as one apart. 
 
 The weather had remained fine on this parting-day ; 
 but out at sea a heavy swell came from the west, fore- 
 telling wind, and the sea lying in wait for these new 
 adventurers burst its crests afar. 
 
 Around Gaud there stood many good-looking wives 
 like her, and touching, with their eyes big with tears ; 
 others were thoughtless and lively ; these had no heart 
 
THE START. 
 
 239 
 
 or were not in love. Old women, threatened nearly by 
 death, wept as they clung to their sons ; sweethearts 
 kissed each other; half-maudlin sailors sang to cheer 
 themselves up, whilst others went on board with gloomy 
 looks as to their execution. 
 
 Many sad incidents could be marked ; there were 
 poor luckless fellows who had signed their contracts 
 unconsciously, when in liquor in the grog-shop, and 
 they had to be dragged on board by force ; their own 
 wives helping the gendarmes. Others, noted for their 
 great strength, had been drugged in drink beforehand, 
 and were carried like corpses on stretchers, and flung 
 down in the forecastles. 
 
 Gaud was frightened by all this ; what companions 
 were these for her Yann? and what a fearful thing 
 was this Iceland, to inspire men with such terror of it ? 
 
 Yet there were sailors who smiled, and were happy ; 
 who, doubtless, like Yann, loved the untrammelled life 
 and hard fishing work; those were the sound, able 
 seamen, who had fine noble countenances ; if they were 
 unmarried they went off recklessly, merely casting a 
 last look on the lasses ; and if they were married, they 
 kissed their wives' and little ones, with fervent sadness 
 and deep hopefulness as to returning home all the richer. 
 
 Gaud was a little comforted when she saw that all 
 
240 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 the Leopoldines were of the latter class, forming really 
 a picked crew. 
 
 The vessels set off two by two, or four by four, drawn 
 out by the tugs. As soon as they moved the sailors 
 raised their caps and, full-voiced, struck up the hymn 
 to the Virgin : u Salut, ffioile-de-la-Mer ! ” (All Hail! 
 Star of the Sea!), whilst on the quay, the women 
 waved their hands for a last farewell, and tears fell 
 upon the lace strings of the caps. 
 
 As soon as the Ltopoldine started, Gaud quickly set 
 off towards the house of the Gaoses. After an hour 
 and a half’s walk along the coast, through the familiar 
 paths of Ploubazlanec, she arrived there, at the very 
 land’s end, within the home of her new family. 
 
 The Leopoldine was to cast anchor off Pors-Even be- 
 fore starting definitely in the evening, so the married 
 pair had made a last appointment here. Yann came to 
 land in the yawl, and stayed another three hours with 
 her to bid her good-bye on firm land. The weather 
 was still beautiful and spring-like, and the sky serene. 
 
 They walked out on the high road arm-in-arm, and 
 it reminded them of their walk the day before. They 
 strolled on towards Paimpol without any apparent 
 object in view, and soon came to their own home, as 
 if unconsciously drawn there; they entered together 
 
THE START. 
 
 241 
 
 for the last time. Grandam Moan was quite amazed 
 at seeing them together again. 
 
 Yann left many injunctions with Gaud concern- 
 ing several of his things in their wardrobe, especially 
 about his fine wedding clothes ; she was to take 
 them out occasionally and air them in the sun, and 
 so on. 
 
 On board ship the sailors learn all these household- 
 like matters ; but Gaud was amused to hear it. Her 
 husband might have been sure, though, that all his 
 things would be kept and attended to, with loving care. 
 
 But all these matters were very secondary for them ; 
 they spoke of them only to have something to talk 
 about, and to hide their real feelings. 
 
 They went on speaking in low, soft tones, as if fear- 
 ing to frighten away the moments which remained, and 
 so make time flit by more swiftly still. Their conver- 
 sation was as a thing which had inexorably to come to 
 an end ; and the most insignificant things which they 
 said seemed, on this day, to become wondrous, mys- 
 terious, and important. 
 
 At the very last minute Yann caught up his wife in 
 his arms, and without saying a word, they were en- 
 folded in a long and silent embrace. 
 
 He embarked; the grey sails were unfurled and 
 
 Q 
 
242 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 spread out to the light wind which rose from the west. 
 He, whom she still could distinguish, waved his cap in 
 a particular way agreed on between them. And with 
 her figure outlined against the sea, she gazed for a 
 long, long time upon her departing love. 
 
 That tiny, human-shaped speck, appearing black 
 against the bluish grey of the waters, was still her 
 husband, even though already it became vague and 
 indefinable, lost in the distance, where persistent sight 
 becomes baffled, and can see no longer. 
 
 As the Ldopoldine faded out of vision, Gaud, as if 
 drawn by a magnet, followed the pathway all along 
 the cliffs till where she had to stop, because the land 
 came to an end ; she sat down at the foot of a tall 
 cross, which rises amidst the gorse and stones. As 
 it was rather an elevated spot, the sea, as seen from 
 there, appeared to be rimmed, as in a bowl, and the 
 Ltopoldine , now a mere point, appeared sailing up the 
 incline of that immense circle. The water rose in 
 great slow undulations, like the upheavals of a sub- 
 marine combat going on somewhere beyond the hori- 
 zon ; but over the great space where Yann still was, 
 all dwelt calm. 
 
 Gaud still gazed at the ship, trying to fix its image 
 well in her brain, so that she might recognise it again 
 
THE START . 
 
 245 
 
 from afar, when she returned to the same place to 
 watch for its home-coming. 
 
 Great swells now rolled in from the west, one 
 after another, without cessation, renewing their useless 
 efforts, and ever breaking over the same rocks, foaming 
 over the same places, to wash the same stones. The 
 stifled fury of the sea appeared strange, considering 
 the absolute calmness of the air and sky ; it was as 
 if the bed of the sea were too full and would overflow 
 and swallow up the strand. 
 
 The Ldojpoldine had grown smaller and smaller, and 
 was lost in the distance. Doubtless the under-tow 
 carried her along, for she moved swiftly and yet 
 the evening breezes were very faint. Now she was 
 only a tiny, grey touch, and would soon reach the 
 extreme horizon of all visible things, and enter 
 those infinite regions, whence darkness was begin- 
 ning to come. 
 
 Going on seven o’clock, night closed, and the boat 
 had disappeared. Gaud returned home, feeling withal 
 rather brave, notwithstanding the tears which uncon- 
 tainably fell. What a difference it would have been, 
 and what still greater pain, if he had gone away, as 
 in the two preceding years, without even a good-bye ! 
 Whilst now, everything was softened and bettered 
 
244 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 between them. He was really her own Yann, and she 
 knew herself to be so truly loved, notwithstanding this 
 separation, that, as she returned home alone, she felt at 
 least consoled by the thought of the delightful waiting 
 for that “ soon again ! ” to be realised to which they 
 had pledged themselves for the autumn. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE FIRST OF THE FLEET. 
 
 The summer passed sadly, being hot and uneventful. 
 She watched anxiously for the first yellowed leaves, 
 and the first gathering of the swallows, and blooming 
 of the chrysanthemums. She wrote to Yann several 
 times by the boats bound for Rykawyk, and by the 
 government cruisers, but one can never be sure of such 
 letters reaching their destination. 
 
 Towards the end of July, she received a letter from 
 him, however. He told her that his health was good, 
 that the fishing season promised to be excellent, and 
 that he had already 1500 fish for his share. From 
 beginning to end, it was written in the simple con- 
 ventional way of all these Icelanders’ home letters. 
 
THE FIRST OF THE FLEET. 
 
 245 
 
 Men educated like Yann completely ignore how to 
 write the thousand things they think, feel, or fancy. 
 Being more cultivated than he, Gand could understand 
 this, and read between the lines that deep affection 
 which was unexpressed. Several times in the four- 
 paged letter, he called her by the title of “ wife,” as if 
 happy in repeating the word. And the address above : 
 “ A Madame Marguerite Gaos , maison Moan , en Ploubaz - 
 lanec ” — she liked to read that over and over again. 
 She was “ Madame Marguerite Gaos ” since so short a 
 time. 
 
 She worked hard during these summer months. The 
 ladies of Paimpol had, at first, hardly believed in her 
 talent as an amateur dressmaker, saying her hands 
 were too fine-1 adyish; but they soon perceived that 
 she excelled in making dresses which were very nice- 
 fitting, so she had become almost a famous dressmaker. 
 
 She spent all her earnings in embellishing their 
 home against his return. The wardrobe and old- 
 shelved beds were all done up afresh, waxed over, and 
 bright new fastenings put on ; she had put a pane of 
 glass into their little window towards the sea, and 
 hung up a pair of curtains ; and she had bought a 
 new counterpane for the winter, with new chairs and 
 a table. 
 
246 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 She had kept the money untouched which her Yann 
 had left her, carefully put by in a small Chinese box, 
 to show him when he returned. During the summer 
 evenings, by the fading light, she sat out before the 
 cottage door with Granny Moan, whose head was 
 much better in the warm weather, and knitted a fine 
 new blue wool jersey for her Yann; round the collar 
 and cuffs there were wonderful open work embroideries. 
 Granny Yvonne had been a very clever knitter in her 
 day, and now she taught all she knew to Gaud. The 
 work took a great deal of wool ; for it had to be a large 
 jersey to fit Yann. 
 
 But soon, especially in the evenings, the shortening 
 of the days could be perceived. Some plants, which 
 had put forth all their blossoms in July, began to look 
 yellow and dying, and the violet scabious by the way- 
 side bloomed for the second time, smaller now, and 
 longer-stalked ; the last days of August drew nigh, and 
 the first return-ship from Iceland hove in sight one 
 evening at the cape of Pors-Even. The feast of the 
 returners began. 
 
 Every one pressed in a crowd on the cliff to welcome 
 it. Which one was it ? 
 
 It was the Samuel- Aztiride, always the first to return. 
 
 u Surely,” said Yann’s old father, <c the Leopoldine 
 
ALL BUT TWO. 
 
 247 
 
 won’t be long now ; I know how ’tis out yonder : when 
 one of ’em begins to start homeward, the others cant 
 hang back in any peace.” 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ALL BUT TWO. 
 
 The Icelanders were all returning now. Two ships 
 came in the second day, four the next, and twelve 
 during the following week. ^Lnd, all through the 
 country, joy returned with them, and there was happi- 
 ness for the wives and mothers; and junkets in the 
 taverns where the beautiful barmaids of Paimpol served 
 out drinks to the fishers. 
 
 The Ltoyoldine was among the belated ; there were 
 yet another ten expected. They would not be long 
 now, and allowing a week’s delay so as not to be dis- 
 appointed, Gaud waited in happy, passionate joy for 
 Yann, keeping their home bright and tidy for his 
 return. When everything was in good order there 
 was nothing left for her to do, and besides she could 
 think of nothing else but her husband in her im- 
 patience. 
 
248 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 Three more ships appeared ; then another five. There 
 were only two lacking now. 
 
 “ Come, come,” they said to her cheerily, “ this year 
 the Ltopoldine and the Marie- Jeanne will be the last, 
 to pick np all the brooms fallen overboard from the 
 other craft.” 
 
 Gand laughed also. She was more animated and 
 beautiful than ever, in her great joy of expectancy. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 STILL AT SEA. 
 
 But the days succeeded one another without result. 
 
 She still dressed herself every day, and with a joyful 
 look, went down to the harbour to gossip with the other 
 wives. She said that this delay was but natural ; was 
 it not the same event every year? These were such 
 safe boats, and had such capital sailors. 
 
 But when at home alone, at night, a nervous, anxious 
 shiver of anguish would run through her whole frame. 
 
 Was it right to be frightened already? Was there 
 even a single reason to be so? But she began to 
 tremble at the mere idea of grounds for being afraid. 
 
CHAPTER Y. 
 
 SHARING THE DREAD. 
 
 The tenth of September came. How swiftly the days 
 flew by ! 
 
 One morning, a true autumn morning, with cold 
 mist falling over the earth, in the rising sun, she sate 
 under the porch of the chapel of the shipwrecked 
 mariners, where the widows go to pray; with eyes 
 fixed and glassy, throbbing temples tightened as by 
 an iron band. 
 
 These sad morning mists had begun two days before, 
 and on this particular day Gaud had awakened with a 
 still more bitter uneasiness, caused by the forecast of 
 advancing winter. Why did this day, this hour, this 
 very moment, seem to her more painful than the pre- 
 ceding? Often ships are delayed a fortnight, even a 
 month for that matter. 
 
 But surely there was something different about this 
 particular morning, for she had come to-day for the 
 first time to sit in the porch of this chapel and 
 read the names of the dead sailors, perished in their 
 prime. 
 
250 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 “ In memory of 
 “ Gaos, Yvon, 
 
 <£ Lost at sea 
 
 “Near the Norden-Fjord.” 
 
 Like a great shudder, a gust of wind rose from the 
 sea, and at the same time something fell like rain upon 
 the roof above. It was only the dead leaves though : 
 many were blown in at the porch; the old wind-tossed 
 trees of the graveyard were losing their foliage in this 
 rising gale, and winter was marching nearer. 
 
 “ Lost at sea, 
 
 “Near the Norden-Fjord, 
 
 “In the storm of the 4th and 5th of August, 1880.” 
 
 She read mechanically under the arch of the door- 
 way ; her eyes sought to pierce the distance over the 
 sea. That morning it was untraceable under the grey 
 mist, and a dragging drapery of clouds overhung the 
 horizon like a mourning veil. 
 
 Another gust of wind, and other leaves danced in in 
 whirls. A stronger gust still, as if the western storm 
 which had strewn those dead over the sea, wished to 
 deface the very inscriptions which remembered their 
 names to the living. 
 
 Gaud looked with involuntary persistency at an 
 empty space upon the wall which seemed to yawn 
 
SHARING THE DREAD. 
 
 251 
 
 expectant. By a terrible impression she was pursued, 
 the thought of a fresh slab which might soon, perhaps, 
 be placed there, with another name which she did not 
 even dare think of in such a spot. 
 
 She felt cold, and remained seated on the granite 
 bench, her head reclining against the stone wall. 
 
 “ near the Norden-Ijord, 
 
 “ In the storm of the 4th and 5 th of August, 
 
 “ At the age of 23 years. 
 
 “ Requiescat in pace ! ” 
 
 Then Iceland loomed up before her, with its little 
 cemetery lighted up from below the sea-line by the mid- 
 night sun. Suddenly in the same empty space on the 
 wall, with horrifying clearness she saw the fresh slab 
 she was thinking of ; a clear white one, with a skull and 
 cross-bones, and in a flash of foresight, a name — the 
 worshipped name of “ Yann Gaos ! ” Then she suddenly 
 and fearfully drew herself up straight and stiff, with a 
 hoarse, wild cry in her throat like a mad creature. 
 
 Outside the grey mist of the dawn fell over the land, 
 and the dead leaves were again blown dancingly into 
 the porch. 
 
 Steps on the footpath ! Somebody was coming ? 
 She rose and quickly smoothed down her cap and com- 
 
252 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 posed her face. Nearer drew the steps. She assumed 
 the air of one who might be there by chance ; for, above 
 all, she did not wish to appear yet, like the widow of a 
 shipwrecked mariner. 
 
 It happened to be Fante Floury, the wife of the 
 second mate of the Ldopoldine. She understood im- 
 mediately what Gaud was doing there ; it was useless 
 to dissemble with her. At first each woman stood 
 speechless before the other. They were angry and 
 almost hated each other for having met with a like 
 sentiment of apprehension. 
 
 “All the men of Treguier and Saint Brieuc have 
 been back this week,” said Fante at last, in a pitiless, 
 muffled, half-irritated voice. 
 
 She carried a blessed taper in her hand, to offer up a 
 prayer. Gaud did not wish yet to resort to that extreme 
 resource of despairing wives. Yet silently she ehtered 
 the chapel behind Fante, and they knelt down together 
 side by side, like two sisters. 
 
 To the “ Star of the Sea ” they offered ardent im- 
 ploring prayers, with their whole soul in them. A 
 sound of sobbing was alone heard, as their rapid tears 
 swiftly fell upon the floor. They rose together, more 
 confident and softened. Fante held up Gaud, who 
 staggered, and taking her in her arms, kissed her. 
 
ALL BUT ONE. 
 
 253 
 
 Wiping their eyes, and smoothing their dishevelled 
 hair, they brushed off the salt dust from the flagstones, 
 soiling their gowns, and they went away in opposite 
 directions, without another word. 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 ALL BUT ONE. 
 
 This end of September was like another summer, only 
 a little less lively. The weather was so beautiful, that 
 had it not been for the dead leaves which fell upon the 
 roads, one might have thought that June had come back 
 again. Husbands and sweethearts had all returned, and 
 everywhere was the joy of a second springtime of love. 
 
 At last, one day, one of the missing ships was 
 signalled. Which one was it ? 
 
 The groups of speechless and anxious women had 
 rapidly formed on the cliff. Gaud, pale and trembling, 
 was there, by the side of her Yann’s father. 
 
 I’m almost sure,” said the old fisher, “ I’m almost 
 sure it’s them ! A red rail and a topsail that clews 
 up, — it’s very like them anyhow. What do you make 
 it, Gaud ? 
 
254 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 “ No, it isn’t,” lie went on, with sudden discourage- 
 ment ; “ we’ve made a mistake again, the boom isn’t 
 the same, and ours has a jigger sail. Well, well, it 
 isn’t our boat this time, it’s only the Marie- Jeanne. 
 Never mind, my lass, surely they’ll not be long now.” 
 
 But day followed day, and night succeeded night, 
 with uninterrupted serenity. 
 
 Gaud continued to dress every day like a poor crazed 
 woman, always in fear of being taken for the widow of 
 a shipwrecked sailor, feeling exasperated when others 
 looked furtively and compassionately at her, and glancing 
 aside so that she might not meet those glances which 
 froze her very blood. 
 
 She had fallen into the habit of going at the early 
 morning right to the end of the headland, on the high 
 cliffs of Pors-Even, passing behind Yann’s old home, so 
 as not to be seen by his mother or little sisters. She 
 went to the extreme point of the Ploubazlanec land, 
 which is outlined in the shape of a reindeer’s horn upon 
 the grey waters of the channel, and sat there all day 
 long at the foot of the lonely cross, which rises high 
 above the immense waste of the ocean. There are 
 many of these crosses hereabout ; they are set up on the 
 most advanced cliffs of the sea-bound land, as if to im- 
 plore mercy and to calm that restless mysterious power 
 
ALL BUT ONE. 
 
 255 
 
 which draws men away, never to give them back, and 
 in preference retains the bravest and noblest. 
 
 Around this cross, stretches the ever-green waste, 
 strewn with short rushes. At this great height the 
 sea air was very pure ; it scarcely retained the briny 
 odour of the weeds, but was perfumed with all the 
 exquisite ripeness of September flowers. 
 
 Far away, all the bays and inlets of the coast were 
 firmly outlined, rising one above another; the land 
 of Brittany terminated in jagged edges, which spread 
 out far into the tranquil surface. 
 
 Near at hand the reefs were numerous, but out 
 beyond nothing broke its polished mirror, from which 
 arose a soft, caressing ripple, light and intensified from 
 the depths of its many bays. Its horizon seemed so 
 calm, and its depths so soft ! The great blue sepulchre 
 of many Gaoses hid its inscrutable mystery, whilst the 
 breezes, faint as human breath, wafted to and fro the 
 perfume of the stunted gorse, which had bloomed again 
 in the latest autumn sun. 
 
 At regular hours the sea retreated, and great spaces 
 were left uncovered everywhere, as if the Channel was 
 slowly drying up ; then with the same lazy slowness, 
 the waters rose again, and continued their everlast- 
 ing coming and going, without any heed of the dead. 
 
256 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 At the foot of the cross, Gaud remained, surrounded 
 by these tranquil mysteries, gazing ever before her, 
 until the night fell and she could see no more. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE MOURNER’S VISION. 
 
 September had passed. The sorrowing wife took 
 scarcely any nourishment, and could no longer sleep. 
 
 She remained at home now, crouching low with her 
 hands between her knees, her head thrown back and 
 resting against the wall behind. What was the good 
 of getting up or going to bed now ? When she was 
 thoroughly exhausted she threw herself, dressed, upon 
 her bed. Otherwise she remained in the same position, 
 chilled and benumbed ; in her quiescent state, only her 
 teeth chattered with the cold ; she had that continual 
 impression of a band of iron round her brows; her 
 cheeks looked wasted; her mouth was dry, with a 
 feverish taste, and at times a painful hoarse cry rose 
 from her throat, and was repeated in spasms, whilst 
 her head beat backwards against the granite wall. Or 
 
THE MOURNER’S VISION. 
 
 25 7 
 
 else she called Yann by his name in a low, tender 
 voice, as if he were quite close to her, whispering 
 words of love to her. 
 
 Sometimes she occupied her brain with thoughts 
 of quite insignificant things ; for instance, she amused 
 herself by watching the shadow of the china Virgin 
 lengthen slowly over the high woodwork of the bed, 
 as the sun went down. And then the agonised 
 thoughts returned more horrible, and her wailing 
 cry broke out again as she beat her head against 
 the wall. 
 
 All the hours of the day passed, and all the hours 
 of evening, and of night, and then the hours of the 
 morning. When she reckoned the time he ought 
 to have been back, she was seized with a still greater 
 terror ; she wished to forget all dates and the very 
 names of the days. 
 
 Generally, there is some information concerning the 
 wrecks off Iceland ; those who return have seen the 
 tragedy from afar, or else have found some wreckage 
 or bodies, or have an indication to guess the rest. 
 But of the Leojpoldine nothing had been seen, and 
 nothing was known. The Marie-Jeanne men, the 
 last to have seen it on the 2d of August, said that 
 she was to have gone on fishing farther towards the 
 
2 5 8 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 north, and, beyond that, the secret was unfathom- 
 able. 
 
 Waiting, always waiting, and knowing nothing ! 
 When would the time come when she need wait no 
 longer ? She did not even know that ; and, now, she 
 almost wished that it might be soon. 
 
 Oh ! if he were dead ; let them at least have pity 
 enough to tell her so ! 
 
 Oh! to see her darling, as he was at this very 
 moment, that is, what was left of him ! If only the 
 much-implored Virgin, or some other power, would do 
 her the blessing to show her, by second-sight, her 
 beloved ! either living and working hard to return a 
 rich man, or else as a corpse, surrendered by the sea, 
 so that she might at least know a certainty. 
 
 Sometimes she was seized with the thought of a ship 
 appearing suddenly on the horizon ; the Ldopoldine 
 hastening home. Then she would suddenly make an 
 irreflected movement to rise, and rush to look out at 
 the ocean, to see whether it were true. 
 
 But she would fall back. Alas ! where was this 
 TJopoldine now? Where could she be? Out afar, at 
 that awful distance of Iceland, forsaken, crushed) and 
 lost. 
 
 All ended by a never-fading vision appearing to 
 
THE FALSE ALARM. 
 
 259 
 
 her — an empty, sea-tossed wreck, slowly and gently 
 rocked by the silent grey and rose streaked sea ; almost 
 with soft mockery, in the midst of the vast calm of 
 deadened waters. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE FALSE ALARM. 
 
 Two o’clock in tke morning. 
 
 It was at night, especially, that she kept attentive 
 to approaching footsteps ; at the slightest rumour or 
 unaccustomed noise her temples vibrated; by dint of 
 being strained to outward things, they had become 
 fearfully sensitive. 
 
 Two o’clock in the morning. On this night as on 
 others, with her hands clasped and her eyes wide open 
 in the dark, she listened to the wind, sweeping in 
 never-ending tumult over the heath. 
 
 Suddenly a man’s footsteps hurried along the path ! 
 At this hour who would pass now ? She drew herself 
 up, stirred to the very soul, her heart ceasing to beat. 
 
 Some one stopped before the door, and came up the 
 small stone steps. 
 
 He ! — 0 God ! — he ! Some one had knocked, — it could 
 
26 o 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 be no other than he ! She was up now, bare-footed ; 
 she, so feeble for the last few days, had sprung up as 
 nimbly as a kitten, with her arms outstretched to wind 
 round her darling. Of course the Zfopoldine had 
 arrived at night, and anchored in Pors-Even Bay, and 
 he had rushed home ; she arranged all this in her mind 
 with the swiftness of lightning. She tore the flesh 
 off her fingers in her excitement to draw the bolt, 
 which had stuck. 
 
 “Eh?” 
 
 She slowly moved backward, as if crushed, her head 
 falling on her bosom. Her beautiful insane dream was 
 over. She just could grasp that it was not her husband, 
 her Yann, and that nothing of him, substantial or 
 spiritual, had passed through the air ; she felt plunged 
 again into her deep abyss, to the lowest depths of her 
 terrible despair. 
 
 Poor Fantec, for it was he, stammered many excuses, 
 his wife was very ill, and their child was stifling in its 
 cot, suddenly attacked with a malignant sore throat ; 
 so he had run over to beg for assistance on the road to 
 fetch the doctor from Paimpol. 
 
 What did all this matter to her? She had gone 
 mad in her own distress, and could give no thoughts 
 to the troubles of others. Huddled on a bench, she 
 
THE FALSE ALARM. 
 
 261 
 
 remained before him with fixed, glazed eyes, like a dead 
 woman’s ; without listening to him or even answering 
 at random or looking at him. What to her was the 
 speech the man was making ? 
 
 He understood it all ; and guessed why the door had 
 been opened so quickly to him, and feeling pity for the 
 pain he had unwittingly caused, he stammered out an 
 excuse. 
 
 “ Just so ; he never had ought to have disturbed her 
 — her in particular.” 
 
 u I ! ” ejaculated Gaud, quickly, “ why should I not 
 be disturbed particularly, Fantec ? ” 
 
 Life had suddenly come back to her ; f for she did 
 not wish to appear in despair before others. Besides, 
 she pitied him now; she dressed to accompany him, 
 and found the strength to go and see to his little 
 child. 
 
 At four o’clock in the morning, when she returned 
 to throw herself on the bed, sleep subdued her, for she 
 was tired out. But that moment of excessive joy had 
 left an impression on her mind, which, in spite of all, 
 was permanent; she awoke soon with a shudder, rising 
 a little and partially recollecting — she knew not what. 
 News had come to her concerning her Yann. In 
 the midst of her confusion of ideas, she sought rapidly 
 
262 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 in her mind what it could be, but there was nothing 
 save Fantec’s interruption. 
 
 For the second time she fell back into her terrible 
 abyss, nothing changed in her morbid, hopeless waiting. 
 
 Yet in that short, hopeful moment she had felt him 
 so near to her, that it was as if his spirit had floated 
 over the sea unto her, what is called a foretoken ( pres- 
 signe ) in Breton land ; and she listened still more atten- 
 tively to the steps outside, trusting that some • one 
 might come to her to speak of him. 
 
 Just as the day broke Yann’s father entered. He 
 took off his cap, and pushed back his splendid white 
 locks, which were in curls like Yann’s, and sat down 
 by Gaud’s bedside. 
 
 His heart ached fully, too, for Yann, his tall, hand- 
 some Yann, was his first-born* his favourite and his 
 pride ; but he did not despair yet. He comforted Gaud 
 in his own blunt, affectionate way ; to begin with, those 
 who had last returned from Iceland spoke of the in- 
 creasing dense fogs which might well have delayed the 
 vessel ; and then, too, an idea struck him ; they might 
 possibly have stopped at the distant Faroe Islands on 
 their homeward course, whence letters were so long 
 in travelling. This had happened to him once forty 
 years ago, and his own poor dead and gone mother 
 
THE FALSE ALARM. 
 
 2^3 
 
 had had a mass said for his soul. The Ldoyoldine was 
 such a good boat, next to new, and her crew were such 
 able-bodied seamen. 
 
 Granny Moan stood by them shaking her head ; the 
 distress of her granddaughter had almost given her 
 back her own strength and reason ; she tidied up the 
 place, glancing from time to time at the faded portrait 
 of Sylvestre, which hung upon the granite wall with 
 its anchor emblems and mourning- wreath of black bead- 
 work. Ever since the sea had robbed her of her own 
 last offspring she believed no longer in safe returns ; 
 she only prayed through fear, bearing heaven a grudge 
 in the bottom of her heart. 
 
 But Gaud listened eagerly to these consoling reason- 
 ings; her large sunken eyes looked with deep tender- 
 ness out upon this old sire, who so much resembled 
 her beloved one ; merely to have him near her was like 
 a hostage against death having taken the younger 
 Gaos; and she felt reassured, nearer to her Yann. 
 Her tears fell softly and silently, and she repeated 
 again her passionate prayers to the “ Star of the Sea.” 
 
 A delay out at those islands to repair damages was a 
 very likely event. She rose and brushed her hair, and 
 then dressed as if she might fairly expect him. All then 
 w r as not lost, if a seaman, his own father, did not yet 
 
264 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 despair. And for a few days, slie resumed looking out 
 for him again. 
 
 Autumn at last arrived, a late autumn too, its gloomy 
 evenings making all things appear dark in the old 
 cottage, and all the land looked sombre too. 
 
 The very daylight seemed crepuscular ; immeasurable 
 clouds, passing slowly overhead, darkened the whole 
 country at broad noon. The wind blew constantly 
 with the sound of a great cathedral organ at a distance, 
 but playing profane, despairing dirges ; at other times 
 the noise came close to the door, like the howling of 
 wild beasts. 
 
 She had grown pale, aye, blanched, and bent more 
 than ever, as if old age had already touched her with 
 its featherless wing. Often .did she finger the wedding 
 clothes of her Yann, folding and unfolding them again 
 and again like some maniac, especially one of his blue 
 woollen jerseys, which still had preserved his shape ; 
 when she threw it gently on the table, it fell with the 
 shoulders and chest well defined ; so she placed it by 
 itself in a shelf of their wardrobe, and left it there, so 
 that it might for ever rest unaltered. 
 
 Every night the cold mists sank upon the land, as 
 she gazed over the depressing heath through her little 
 window, and watched the paltry puffs of white smoke 
 
WEDDED TO THE SEA. 
 
 265 
 
 arise from the chimneys of other cottages scattered 
 here and there on all sides. There the husbands had 
 returned, like wandering birds driven home by the 
 frost. Before their blazing hearths the evenings passed, 
 cosy and warm ; for the springtime of love had begun 
 again in this land of North Sea fishermen. 
 
 Still clinging to the thought of those islands where 
 he might perhaps have lingered, she was buoyed up by 
 a kind of hope and expected him home any day. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WEDDED TO THE SEA. 
 
 But he never returned. One August night, out off 
 gloomy Iceland, mingled with the furious clamour of 
 the sea, his wedding with the sea was performed. 
 It had been his nurse; it had rocked him in his 
 babyhood and had afterwards made him big and 
 strong; then, in his superb manhood, it had taken 
 him back again for itself alone. Profoundest mystery 
 had surrounded this unhallowed union. While it went 
 on, dark curtains hung pall-like over it as if to con- 
 ceal the ceremony, and the ghoul howled in an awful 
 
266 
 
 AN ICELAND FISHERMAN. 
 
 deafening voice to stifle his cries. He, thinking of 
 Gaud, his sole, darling wife, had battled with giant 
 strength against this deathly rival, until he at last 
 surrendered, with a deep death-cry like the roar of a 
 dying bull, through a mouth already filled with water ; 
 and his arms were stretched apart and stiffened for 
 ever. 
 
 All those he had invited in days of old were present 
 at his wedding. All except Sy.lvCstre, who had gone 
 to sleep in the enchanted gardens far, far away, at the 
 other side of the earth. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDON: J. AND R. MAXWELL, MILTON HOUSE, ST. BRIDE STREET, E.C.