CHAPTER V
THE SECOND MEETING
Their second meeting was at a wedding-feast. Young Gaos had been
chosen to offer her his arm. At first she had been rather vexed, not
liking the idea of strolling through the streets with this tall
fellow, whom everybody would stare at, on account of his excessive
height, and who, most probably, would not know what to speak to her
about. Besides, he really 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 spoiled.
At last he arrived, in his best clothes also, apologizing, 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 hastily had set sail. There was great
excitement in the villages, women rushing about to find their husbands
and urging them to put off quickly, and struggling hard themselves to
hoist the sails and help in the launching; in fact, a regular
"turnout" 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 caused him 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 regions. The other Icelandes present were
disappointed at not having been warned in time, like the fishers of
Ploubazlanec, of the fortune that was skirting their very shores.
But it was too late now, worse luck! So they gave their arms to the
lasses, the violins began to play, and joyously they all tramped out.
At first Yann had only paid her a few innocent compliments, such as
fall to a chance partner met at a wedding, and of whom one knows but
little. Amidst all the couples in the procession, they formed the only
one of strangers, the others were all relatives or sweethearts.
But during the evening while the dancing was going on, the talk
between them had again turned to the subject of the fish, and looking
her straight in the eyes, he roughly said to her:
"You are the only person about Paimpol, and even in the world, for
whom I would have missed 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, would rather be with you than
with anybody else."
That was all. But from that moment until the end of the dancing, they
kept on chatting in a different tone than before, low and soft-voiced.
The dancing was to the sound of a hurdy-gurdy and violin, the same
couples almost always together. When Yann returned to invite her
again, after having danced with another girl for politeness' sake,
they exchanged a smile, like friends meeting anew, and continued their
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 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 that their father had found
in the Channel, the sale of which had brought in 10,000 francs,
omitting the share claimed by the Treasury. With the money they built
an upper story to their house, which was situated at the point of
Ploubazlanec, at the very land's end, in the hamlet of Pors-Even,
overlooking the sea, and having a grand outlook.
"It is mighty tough, though," said he, "this here life of an
Icelander, having to start in 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 occupation is pretty good, nevertheless," he said, "and I shall
never change my career. Some years we make eight hundred francs, and
others twelve hundred, which I get upon my return, and hand over to
the old lady."
"To your mother, Monsieur Yann, eh?"
"Yes, every penny of it, always. It's the custom with us Icelanders,
Mademoiselle Gaud." He spoke of this as a quite ordinary and natural
course.
"Perhaps you'll hardly believe it, but I scarcely ever have any
pocket-money. Of a Sunday mother gives me a little when I come into
Paimpol. And so it goes all the time. Why, look 'ee here, this year my
father had these clothes made for me, without which treat I never
could have come to the wedding; certain sure, for I never should have
dared offer you my arm in my old duds of last year."
For one like her, accustomed to seeing Parisians, Yann's habiliments
were, perhaps, not very stylish; a short jacket open over the old-
fashioned waistcoat; but the build of their wearer was irreproachably
handsome, so that he had a noble look withal.
Smiling, he looked at her straight in the depths of her eyes each time
he spoke to her, so as to divine her opinion. And how good and honest
was his look, as he told her all these short-comings, so that she
might well understand that he was not rich!
And she smiled also, as she gazed at him full in the face; answering
seldom, but listening with her whole soul, more and more astonished
and more and more drawn towards him. What a mixture of untamed
roughness and caressing childishness he was! His earnest voice, short
and blunt towards others, became softer and more and more tender as he
spoke to her; and for her alone he knew how to make it trill with
extreme sweetness, like the music of a stringed instrument with the
mute upon it.
What a singular and astonishing fact it was to see this man of brawn,
with his free air and forbidding aspect, always treated by his family
like a child, and deeming it quite natural; having travelled over all
the earth, met with all sorts of adventures, incurred all dangers, and
yet showing the same respectful and absolute obedience to his parents.
She compared him to others, two or three dandies in Paris, clerks,
quill-drivers, or what not, who had pestered her with their
attentions, for the sake of her money. He seemed to be the best, as
well as the most handsome, man she had ever met.
To put herself more on an equality with him she related how, in her
own home, she had not always been so well-off as at present; that her
father had begun life as a fisherman off Iceland, and always held the
Icelanders in great esteem; and that she herself could clearly
remember as a little child, having run barefooted upon the beach,
after her poor mother's death.
Oh! the exquisite night of that ball, unique in her life! It seemed
far away now, for it dated back to December, and May had already
returned. All the sturdy partners of that evening were out fishing
yonder now, scattered over the far northern seas, in the clear pale
sun, in intense loneliness, while the dust thickened silently on the
land of Brittany.
Still Gaud remained at her window. The market-place of Paimpol, hedged
in on all sides by the old-fashioned houses, became sadder and sadder
with the darkling; everywhere reigned silence. Above the housetops the
still brilliant space of the heavens seemed to grow more hollow, to
raise itself up and finally separate itself from all terrestrial
things: these, in the last hour of day, were entirely blended into the
single dark outline of the gables of olden roofs.
From time to time a window or door would be suddenly closed; some old
sailor, shaky upon his legs, would blunder out of the tavern and
plunge into the small dark streets; or girls passed by, returning home
late after their walk and carrying nosegays of May-flowers. One of
them who knew Gaud, calling out good-evening to her, held up a branch
of hawthorn high towards her as if to offer it her to smell; in the
transparent darkness she could distinguish the airy tufts of its white
blossoms. From the gardens and courts floated another soft perfume,
that of the flowering honeysuckle along the granite walls, mingled
with a vague smell of seaweed in the harbour.
Bats flew silently through the air above, like hideous creatures in a
dream.
Many and many an evening had Gaud passed at her window, gazing upon
the melancholy market-place, thinking of the Icelanders who were far
away, and always of that same ball.
Yann was a capital waltzer, as straight as a young oak, moving with a
graceful yet dignified bearing, his head thrown well back, his brown,
curled locks falling upon his brow, and floating with the motion of
the dance. Gaud, who was rather tall herself, felt their contact upon
her cap, as he bent towards her to grasp her more tightly during the
swift movements.
Now and then he pointed out to her his little sister Marie, dancing
with Sylvestre, who was her /fiance/. 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.
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
that bound her to him.
"Did you see the saucy minx, what eyes she made at him?" queried two
or three girls, with their own eyes timidly bent under their golden or
black brows, though they had among the dancers one or two lovers, to
say the least. And truly Gaud did look at Yann very hard, only she had
the excuse that he was the first and only young man whom she ever had
noticed in her life.
At dawn, when the party broke up and left in confusion, they had taken
leave of one another, like betrothed ones, who are sure to meet the
following day. To return home, she had crossed this same market-place
with her father, little fatigued, feeling light and gay, happy to
breathe the frosty fog, and loving the sad dawn itself, so sweet and
enjoyable seemed bare life.
The May night had long since fallen; nearly all the windows had closed
with a grating of their iron fittings, but Gaud remained at her place,
leaving hers open. The last passers-by, who could distinguish the
white cap in the darkness, might say to themselves, "That's surely
some girl, dreaming of her sweetheart." It was true, for she was
dreaming of hers, with a wild desire to weep; her tiny teeth bit her
lips and continually opened and pursed up the deep dimple that
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, let me tell 'ee, he'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 recognized engagement with any one, he paid no more attention to
one than another, but roved from right to left, to Lezardrieux as well
as to Paimpol, to all the beauties who cared to receive his address.
One Sunday evening, very late, she had seen him pass under her
windows, in company with one Jeannie Caroff, whom he tucked under his
wing very closely; she was pretty, certainly, but had a very bad
reputation. This had pained Gaud very much indeed. She had been told
that he was very quick-tempered: one night being rather tipsy in a
tavern of Paimpol, where the Icelanders held their revels, he had
thrown a great marble table through a door that they would not open to
him. But she forgave him all that; we all know what sailors are
sometimes when the fit takes them. But if his heart were good, why had
he sought one out who never had thought of him, to leave her
afterward; what reason had he had to look at her for a whole evening
with his fair, open smile, and to use his softest, 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 he was no longer by, nothing else existed in her
eyes; slowly time seemed to drag until the return in autumn, when she
had made up her mind to put an end to her doubts.
The town-hall clock struck eleven, with that peculiar resonance that
bells have during the quiet spring nights. At Paimpol eleven o'clock
is very late; so Gaud closed her window and lit her lamp, to go to
bed.
Perhaps it was only shyness in Yann, after all, or was it because,
being proud also, he was afraid of a refusal, as she was so rich? She
wanted to ask him this herself straightforwardly, but Sylvestre
thought that it would not be the right thing, and it would not look
well for her to appear so bold. In Paimpol already her manners and
dress were sufficiently criticised.
She undressed slowly as if in a dream; first her muslin cap, then her
town-cut dress, which she threw carelessly on a chair. The little
lamp, alone to burn at this late hour, bathed her shoulders and bosom
in its mysterious light, her perfect form, which no eye ever had
contemplated, and never could contemplate if Yann did not marry her.
She knew her face was beautiful, but she was unconscious of the beauty
of her figure. In this remote land, among daughters of fishers, beauty
of shape is almost part of the race; it is scarcely ever noticed, and
even the least 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 two plaits fell upon her
shoulders like weighty serpents. She drew them up into a crown on the
top of her head--this was comfortable for sleeping--so that, by reason
of her straight profile, she looked like a Roman vestal.
She still held up her arms, and biting her lip, she slowly ran her
fingers through the golden mass, like a child playing with a toy,
while 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 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.
