The first day she had seen him, this Yann, was the day after hisarrival, at the "/Pardon des Islandais/," which is on the eighth ofDecember, the fete-day of Our Lady of Bonne-Nouvelle, the patroness offishers--a little before the procession, with the gray streets, stilldraped in white sheets, on which were strewn ivy and holly and wintryblossoms with their leaves.
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 disguisedthan elsewhere, the universal warning of death.
A great clamour in Paimpol; sounds of bells mingled with the chants ofthe priests. Rough and monotonous songs in the taverns--old sailorlullabies--songs of woe, arisen from the sea, drawn from the deepnight of bygone ages. Groups of sailors, arm-in-arm, zigzaggingthrough the streets, from their habit of rolling, and because theywere half-drunk. Groups of girls in their nun-like white caps. Oldgranite houses sheltering these seething crowds; antiquated roofstelling of their struggles, through many centuries, against thewestern winds, the mist, and the rain; and relating, too, many storiesof love and adventure that had passed under their protection.
And floating over all was a deep religious sentiment, a feeling ofbygone days, with respect for ancient veneration and the symbols thatprotect it, and for the white, immaculate Virgin. Side by side withthe taverns rose the church, its deep sombre portals thrown open, andsteps strewn with flowers, with its perfume of incense, its lightedtapers, and the votive offerings of sailors hung all over the sacredarch. And side by side also with the happy girls were the sweetheartsof dead sailors, and the widows of the shipwrecked fishers, quittingthe chapel of the dead in their long mourning shawls and their smoothtiny /coiffes/; with eyes downward bent, noiselessly they passedthrough the midst of this clamouring life, like a sombre warning. Andclose to all was the everlasting sea, the huge nurse and devourer ofthese vigorous generations, become fierce and agitated as if to takepart 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 ofanguish seize her at the idea that this country had now become her ownagain. On the market-place, where there were games and acrobats, shewalked up and down with her friends, who named and pointed out to herfrom time to time the young men of Paimpol or Ploubazlanec. A group ofthese "Icelanders" were standing before the singers of"/complaintes/," (songs of woe) with their backs turned towards them.
And directly Gaud was struck with one of them, tall as a giant, withhuge shoulders almost too broad; but she had simply said, perhaps witha touch of mockery: "There is one who is tall, to say the least!" Andthe sentence implied beneath this was: "What an incumbrance he'll beto the woman he marries, a husband of that size!"He had turned round as if he had heard her, and had given her a quickglance from top to toe, seeming to say: "Who is this girl who wearsthe /coiffe/ of Paimpol, who is so elegant, and whom I never have seenbefore?"And he quickly bent his eyes to the ground for politeness' sake, andhad appeared to take a renewed interest in the singers, only showingthe back of his head and his black hair that fell in rather long curlsupon his neck. And although she had asked the names of several others,she had not dared ask his. The fine profile, the grand half-savagelook, the brown, almost tawny pupils moving rapidly on the bluish opalof the eyes; all this had impressed her and made her timid.
And it just happened to be that "Fils Gaos," of whom she had heard theMoans speak as a great friend of Sylvestre's. On the evening of thissame /Pardon/, Sylvestre and he, walking arm-in-arm, had crossed herfather and herself, and had stopped to wish them good-day.
And young Sylvestre had become again to her as a sort of brother. Asthey were cousins they had continued to /tutoyer/ (using thou for you,a sign of familiarity) each other; true, she had at first hesitateddoing so to this great boy of seventeen, who already wore a blackbeard, but as his kind, soft, childish eyes had hardly changed at all,she recognized him soon enough to imagine that she had never lostsight of him.
When he used to come into Paimpol, she kept him to dinner of anevening; it was without consequence to her, and he always had a verygood appetite, being on rather short rations at home.
To speak truly, Yann had not been very polite to her at this firstmeeting, which took place at the corner of a tiny gray street, strewnwith green branches. He had raised his hat to her, with a noble thoughtimid gesture; and after having given her an ever-rapid glance, turnedhis eyes away, as if he were vexed with this meeting and in a hurry togo. A strong western breeze that had arisen during the procession, hadscattered branches of box everywhere and loaded the sky with dark graydraperies.
Gaud, in her dreamland of remembrances, saw all this clearly again;the sad gloaming falling upon the remains of the /Pardon/; the sheetsstrewn with white flowers floating in the wind along the walls; thenoisy groups of Icelanders, other waifs of the gales and tempestsflocking into the taverns, singing to cheer themselves under the gloomof the coming rain; and above all, Gaud remembered the giant standingin front of her, turning aside as if annoyed, and troubled at havingmet her.
What a wonderful change had come over her since then; and what adifference there was between that hubbub and the present tranquility!
How quiet and empty Paimpol seemed to-night in the warm long twilightof May, which kept her still at her window alone, lulled in her love'syoung dream!