PART V
From that day forward she had only one thought: to have a child another child; she confided her wish to everybody, and, in consequence of this, a neighbor told her of an infallible method. This was, to make her husband drink a gla.s.s of water with a pinch of ashes in it every evening. The farmer consented to try it, but without success; so they said to each other: "Perhaps there are some secret ways?" And they tried to find out. They were told of a shepherd who lived ten leagues off, and so Vallin one day drove off to consult him. The shepherd gave him a loaf on which he had made some marks; it was kneaded up with herbs, and each of them was to eat a piece of it, but they ate the whole loaf without obtaining any results from it.
Next, a schoolmaster unveiled mysteries and processes of love which were unknown in the country, but infallible, so he declared; but none of them had the desired effect. Then the priest advised them to make a pilgrimage to the shrine at Fecamp. Rose went with the crowd and prostrated herself in the abbey, and, mingling her prayers with the coa.r.s.e desires of the peasants around her, she prayed that she might be fruitful a second time; but it was in vain, and then she thought that she was being punished for her first fault, and she was seized by terrible grief. She was wasting away with sorrow; her husband was also aging prematurely, and was wearing himself out in useless hopes.
Then war broke out between them; he called her names and beat her. They quarrelled all day long, and when they were in their room together at night he flung insults and obscenities at her, choking with rage, until one night, not being able to think of any means of making her suffer more he ordered her to get up and go and stand out of doors in the rain until daylight. As she did not obey him, he seized her by the neck and began to strike her in the face with his fists, but she said nothing and did not move. In his exasperation he knelt on her stomach, and with clenched teeth, and mad with rage, he began to beat her. Then in her despair she rebelled, and flinging him against the wall with a furious gesture, she sat up, and in an altered voice she hissed: "I have had a child, I have had one! I had it by Jacques; you know Jacques. He promised to marry me, but he left this neighborhood without keeping his word."
The man was thunderstruck and could hardly speak, but at last he stammered out: "What are you saying? What are you saying?" Then she began to sob, and amid her tears she continued: "That was the reason why I did not want to marry you. I could not tell you, for you would have left me without any bread for my child. You have never had any children, so you cannot understand, you cannot understand!"
He said again, mechanically, with increasing surprise: "You have a child? You have a child?"
"You took me by force, as I suppose you know? I did not want to marry you," she said, still sobbing.
Then he got up, lit the candle, and began to walk up and down, with his arms behind him. She was cowering on the bed and crying, and suddenly he stopped in front of her, and said: "Then it is my fault that you have no children?" She gave him no answer, and he began to walk up and down again, and then, stopping again, he continued: "How old is your child?" "Just six," she whispered. "Why did you not tell me about it?" he asked. "How could I?" she replied, with a sigh.
He remained standing, motionless. "Come, get up," he said. She got up with some difficulty, and then, when she was standing on the floor, he suddenly began to laugh with the hearty laugh of his good days, and, seeing how surprised she was, he added: "Very well, we will go and fetch the child, as you and I can have none together."
She was so scared that if she had had the strength she would a.s.suredly have run away, but the farmer rubbed his hands and said: "I wanted to adopt one, and now we have found one. I asked the cure about an orphan some time ago."
Then, still laughing, he kissed his weeping and agitated wife on both cheeks, and shouted out, as though she could not hear him: "Come along, mother, we will go and see whether there is any soup left; I should not mind a plateful."
She put on her petticoat and they went downstairs; and While she was kneeling in front of the fireplace and lighting the fire under the saucepan, he continued to walk up and down the kitchen with long strides, repeating:
"Well, I am really glad of this; I am not saying it for form"s sake, but I am glad, I am really very glad."
THE WRECK
It was yesterday, the 31st of December.
I had just finished breakfast with my old friend Georges Garin when the servant handed him a letter covered with seals and foreign stamps.
Georges said:
"Will you excuse me?"
"Certainly."
And so he began to read the letter, which was written in a large English handwriting, crossed and recrossed in every direction. He read them slowly, with serious attention and the interest which we only pay to things which touch our hearts.
Then he put the letter on the mantelpiece and said:
"That was a curious story! I"ve never told you about it, I think. Yet it was a sentimental adventure, and it really happened to me. That was a strange New Year"s Day, indeed! It must have been twenty years ago, for I was then thirty and am now fifty years old.
"I was then an inspector in the Maritime Insurance Company, of which I am now director. I had arranged to pa.s.s New Year"s Day in Paris-since it is customary to make that day a fete-when I received a letter from the manager, asking me to proceed at once to the island of Re, where a three-masted vessel from Saint-Nazaire, insured by us, had just been driven ash.o.r.e. It was then eight o"clock in the morning. I arrived at the office at ten to get my advices, and that evening I took the express, which put me down in La Roch.e.l.le the next day, the 31st of December.
"I had two hours to wait before going aboard the boat for Re. So I made a tour of the town. It is certainly a queer city, La Roch.e.l.le, with strong characteristics of its own streets tangled like a labyrinth, sidewalks running under endless arcaded galleries like those of the Rue de Rivoli, but low, mysterious, built as if to form a suitable setting for conspirators and making a striking background for those old-time wars, the savage heroic wars of religion. It is indeed the typical old Huguenot city, conservative, discreet, with no fine art to show, with no wonderful monuments, such as make Rouen; but it is remarkable for its severe, somewhat sullen look; it is a city of obstinate fighters, a city where fanaticism might well blossom, where the faith of the Calvinists became enthusiastic and which gave birth to the plot of the "Four Sergeants."
"After I had wandered for some time about these curious streets, I went aboard the black, rotund little steamboat which was to take me to the island of Re. It was called the Jean Guiton. It started with angry puffings, pa.s.sed between the two old towers which guard the harbor, crossed the roadstead and issued from the mole built by Richelieu, the great stones of which can be seen at the water"s edge, enclosing the town like a great necklace. Then the steamboat turned to the right.
"It was one of those sad days which give one the blues, tighten the heart and take away all strength and energy and force-a gray, cold day, with a heavy mist which was as wet as rain, as cold as frost, as bad to breathe as the steam of a wash-tub.
"Under this low sky of dismal fog the shallow, yellow, sandy sea of all practically level beaches lay without a wrinkle, without a movement, without life, a sea of turbid water, of greasy water, of stagnant water. The Jean Guiton pa.s.sed over it, rolling a little from habit, dividing the smooth, dark blue water and leaving behind a few waves, a little splashing, a slight swell, which soon calmed down.
"I began to talk to the captain, a little man with small feet, as round as his boat and rolling in the same manner. I wanted some details of the disaster on which I was to draw up a report. A great square-rigged three-master, the Marie Joseph, of Saint-Nazaire, had gone ash.o.r.e one night in a hurricane on the sands of the island of Re.
"The owner wrote us that the storm had thrown the ship so far ash.o.r.e that it was impossible to float her and that they had to remove everything which could be detached with the utmost possible haste. Nevertheless I must examine the situation of the wreck, estimate what must have been her condition before the disaster and decide whether all efforts had been used to get her afloat. I came as an agent of the company in order to give contradictory testimony, if necessary, at the trial.
"On receipt of my report, the manager would take what measures he might think necessary to protect our interests.
"The captain of the Jean Guiton knew all about the affair, having been summoned with his boat to a.s.sist in the attempts at salvage.
"He told me the story of the disaster. The Marie Joseph, driven by a furious gale lost her bearings completely in the night, and steering by chance over a heavy foaming sea-"a milk-soup sea," said the captain-had gone ash.o.r.e on those immense sand banks which make the coasts of this country look like limitless Saharas when the tide is low.
"While talking I looked around and ahead. Between the ocean and the lowering sky lay an open s.p.a.ce where the eye could see into the distance. We were following a coast. I asked:
""Is that the island of Re?"
""Yes, sir."
"And suddenly the captain stretched his right hand out before us, pointed to something almost imperceptible in the open sea, and said:
""There"s your ship!"
""The Marie Joseph!"
""Yes."
"I was amazed. This black, almost imperceptible speck, which looked to me like a rock, seemed at least three miles from land.
"I continued:
""But, captain, there must be a hundred fathoms of water in that place."
"He began to laugh.
""A hundred fathoms, my child! Well, I should say about two!"
"He was from Bordeaux. He continued:
""It"s now nine-forty, just high tide. Go down along the beach with your hands in your pockets after you"ve had lunch at the Hotel du Dauphin, and I"ll wager that at ten minutes to three, or three o"clock, you"ll reach the wreck without wetting your feet, and have from an hour and three-quarters to two hours aboard of her; but not more, or you"ll be caught. The faster the sea goes out the faster it comes back. This coast is as flat as a turtle! But start away at ten minutes to five, as I tell you, and at half-past seven you will be again aboard of the Jean Guiton, which will put you down this same evening on the quay at La Roch.e.l.le."
"I thanked the captain and I went and sat down in the bow of the steamer to get a good look at the little city of Saint-Martin, which we were now rapidly approaching.
"It was just like all small seaports which serve as capitals of the barren islands scattered along the coast-a large fishing village, one foot on sea and one on sh.o.r.e, subsisting on fish and wild fowl, vegetables and sh.e.l.l-fish, radishes and mussels. The island is very low and little cultivated, yet it seems to be thickly populated. However, I did not penetrate into the interior.