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 off. On this particular morning, fifteen
vessels were to start with the /Leopoldine/, 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 realize 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 never before had been present at these farewells; hence all was
new to her. Among these women 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, foretelling wind, and the sea, lying
in wait for these new adventurers, burst its crests afar.
Around Gaud stood many good-looking wives like her, and touching, with
their eyes big with tears; others were thoughtless and lively; these
had no heart 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, while others
went on board with gloomy looks as to their execution.
Many sad incidents could be marked; there were poor luckless fellows
who had signed their contracts unconsciously, when in liquor in the
grog-shop, and they had to be dragged on board by force; their own
wives helping the 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 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: "/Salut, Etoile-de-la-Mer/!"
(All Hail! Star of the Sea!), while on the quay, the women waved their
hands for a last farewell, and tears fell upon the lace strings of the
caps.
As soon as the /Leopoldine/ 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 before starting
definitely in the evening, so the married pair had made a last
appointment here. Yann came to land in the yawl, and stayed another
three hours with her to bid her good-bye on firm land. The weather was
still beautiful and spring-like, and the sky serene.
They walked out on the high road arm-in-arm, and it reminded them of
their walk the day before. They strolled on towards Paimpol without
any apparent object in view, and soon came to their own house, as if
unconsciously drawn there; they entered together for the last time.
Grandam Moan was quite amazed at seeing them together again.
Yann left many injunctions with Gaud concerning several of his things
in his 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 fearing to frighten
away the moments that remained, and so make time flit by more swiftly
still. Their conversation was as a thing that had inexorably to come
to an end; and the most insignificant things that they said seemed, on
this day, to become wondrous, mysterious, and important.
At the very last moment Yann caught up his wife in his arms, and
without saying a word, they were enfolded in a long and silent
embrace.
He embarked; the gray sails were unfurled and spread out to the light
wind that rose from the west. He, whom she still could distinguish,
waved his cap in a particular way agreed on 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 gray
of the waters, was still her husband, even though already it became
vague and indefinable, lost in the distance, where persistent sight
becomes baffled, and can see no longer.
As the /Leopoldine/ faded out of vision, Gaud, as if drawn by a
magnet, followed the pathway all along the cliffs till she had to
stop, because the land came to an end; she sat down at the foot of a
tall cross, which rises amidst the gorse and stones. As it was rather
an elevated spot, the sea, as seen from there, appeared to be rimmed,
as in a bowl, and the /Leopoldine/, 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 submarine combat going on
somewhere beyond the horizon; 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 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 /Leopoldine/ 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, gray touch, and would soon reach the extreme horizon of all
visible things, and enter those infinite regions, whence darkness was
beginning to come.
Going on seven o'clock, night closed, and the boat had disappeared.
Gaud returned home, feeling withal rather brave, notwithstanding the
tears that uncontainably fell. What a difference it would have been,
and what still greater pain, if he had gone away, as in the two
preceding years, without even a good-bye! While now everything was
softened and bettered 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 realized to which they had pledged themselves for the
autumn.
