so very furious at sight of Delphin circling around her. This Delphin
was a little blonde, with skin bronzed by the sea-glare, and with a
mane of curly hair that fell over his eyes and in his neck. And very
powerful despite his slight figure; quite capable of thrashing any
one three times his size. They said that at times he ran away and
passed the night in Grandport. That gave him the reputation of a
werwolf with the girls, who accused him, among themselves, of "making
a life of it"--a vague expression in which they included all sorts of
unknown pleasures. Margot, when she spoke of Delphin, betrayed too
much feeling. He, smiling with an artful air, looked at her with eyes
half shut and glittering, without troubling himself the least in the
world over her scorn or her transports of passion. He passed before
her door, he glided along by the bushes watching for her hours at a
time, full of the patience and the cunning of a cat lying in wait for
a tomtit; and when suddenly she discovered him behind her skirts, so
close to her at times that she guessed it by the warmth of his breath,
he did not fly, he took on an air gentle and melancholy which left her
abashed, stifled, not regaining her wrath until he was some distance
away. Surely, if her father saw her he would smite her again. But she
boasted in vain that Delphin would some day get that pair of slaps she
had promised him; she never seized the moment to apply them when he was
there; which made people say that she ought not to talk so much, since
in the end she kept the slaps herself.
No one, however, supposed she could ever be Delphin's wife. In her case
they saw the weakness of a coquette. As for a marriage between the
most beggardly of the Mahés, a fellow who had not six shirts to set up
housekeeping with, and the daughter of the mayor, the richest heiress
of the Floches, it would seem simply monstrous. Evil tongues insinuated
that she could perfectly go with him all the same, but that she would
certainly not marry him. A rich girl takes her pleasure as it suits
her, only if she has a head, she does not commit a folly. Finally all
Coqueville interested itself in the matter, curious to know how things
would turn out. Would Delphin get his two slaps? or else Margot, would
she let herself be kissed on both cheeks in some hole in the cliff?
They must see! There were some for the slaps and there were some for
the kisses. Coqueville was in revolution.
In the village two people only, the curé and the _garde champêtre_,[2]
belonged neither to the Mahés nor to the Floches. The _garde
champêtre_, a tall, dried-up fellow, whose name no one knew, but who
was called the Emperor, no doubt because he had served under Charles
X, as a matter of fact exercised no burdensome supervision over the
commune which was all bare rocks and waste lands. A sub-prefect who
patronized him had created for him the sinecure where he devoured in
peace his very small living.
As for the Abbé Radiguet, he was one of those simple-minded priests
whom the bishop, in his desire to be rid of him, buries in some out
of the way hole. He lived the life of an honest man, once more turned
peasant, hoeing his little garden redeemed from the rock, smoking his
pipe and watching his salads grow. His sole fault was a gluttony which
he knew not how to refine, reduced to adoring mackerel and to drinking,
at times, more cider than he could contain. In other respects, the
father of his parishioners, who came at long intervals to hear a mass
to please him.
But the curé and the _garde champêtre_ were obliged to take sides
after having succeeded for a long time in remaining neutral. Now, the
Emperor held for the Mahés, while the Abbé Radiguet supported the
Floches. Hence complications. As the Emperor, from morning to night,
lived like a bourgeois [citizen], and as he wearied of counting the
boats which put out from Grandport, he took it upon himself to act
as village police. Having become the partizan of the Mahés, through
native instinct for the preservation of society, he sided with Fouasse
against Tupain; he tried to catch the wife of Rouget in _flagrante
delicto_ with Brisemotte, and above all he closed his eyes when he saw
Delphin slipping into Margot's courtyard. The worst of it was that
these tactics brought about heated quarrels between the Emperor and
his natural superior, the mayor La Queue. Respectful of discipline,
the former heard the reproaches of the latter, then recommenced to
act as his head dictated; which disorganized the public authority of
Coqueville. One could not pass before the shed ornamented with the
name of the town hall without being deafened by the noise of some
dispute. On the other hand, the Abbé Radiguet rallied to the triumphant
Floches, who loaded him with superb mackerel, secretly encouraged the
resistance of Rouget's wife and threatened Margot with the flames of
hell if she should ever allow Delphin to touch her with his finger.
It was, to sum up, complete anarchy; the army in revolt against the
civil power, religion making itself complaisant toward the pleasures
of the bourgoisie; a whole people, a hundred and eighty inhabitants,
devouring each other in a hole, in face of the vast sea, and of the
infinite sky.
Alone, in the midst of topsy-turvy Coqueville, Delphin preserved the
laughter of a love-sick boy, who scorned the rest, provided Margot
was for him. He followed her zigzags as one follows hares. Very wise,
despite his simple look, he wanted the curé to marry them, so that his
bliss might last forever.
One evening, in a byway where he was watching for her, Margot at last
raised her hand. But she stopped, all red; for without waiting for
the slap, he had seized the hand that threatened him and kissed it
furiously. As she trembled, he said to her in a low voice: "I love you.
Won't you have me?"
"Never!" she cried, in rebellion.
He shrugged his shoulders, then with an air, calm and tender, "Pray do
not say that--we shall be very comfortable together, we two. You will
see how nice it is."
II
That Sunday the weather was appalling, one of those sudden calamities
of September that unchain such fearful tempests on the rocky coast of
Grandport. At nightfall Coqueville sighted a ship in distress driven by
the wind. But the shadows deepened, they could not dream of rendering
help. Since the evening before, the "Zéphir" and the "Baleine" had
been moored in the little natural harbor situated at the left of the
beach, between two walls of granite. Neither La Queue nor Rouget had
dared to go out; the worst of it was that M. Mouchel, representing
the Widow Dufeu, had taken the trouble to come in person that Saturday
to promise them a reward if they would make a serious effort; fish was
scarce, they were complaining at the markets. So, Sunday evening, going
to bed under squalls of rain, Coqueville growled in a bad humor. It
was the everlasting story: orders kept coming in while the sea guarded
its fish. And all the village talked of the ship which they had seen
passing in the hurricane, and which must assuredly by that time be
sleeping at the bottom of the water. The next day, Monday, the sky was
dark as ever. The sea, still high, raged without being able to calm
itself, although the wind was blowing less strong. It fell completely,
but the waves kept up their furious motion. In spite of everything, the
two boats went out in the afternoon. Toward four o'clock, the "Zéphir"
came in again, having caught nothing. While the sailors, Tupain and
Brisemotte, anchored in the little harbor, La Queue, exasperated, on
the shore, shook his fist at the ocean. And M. Mouchel was waiting!
Margot was there, with the half of Coqueville, watching the last
surgings of the tempest, sharing her father's rancor against the sea
and the sky.
"But where is the 'Baleine'?" demanded some one.
"Out there beyond the point," said La Queue. "If that carcass comes
back whole to-day, it will be by a chance."
He was full of contempt. Then he informed them that it was good for
the Mahés to risk their skins in that way; when one is not worth a
_sou_, one may perish. As for him, he preferred to break his word to M.
Mouchel.
In the mean time, Margot was examining the point of rocks behind which
the "Baleine" was hidden.
"Father," she asked at last, "have they caught something?"
"They?" he cried. "Nothing at all."
He calmed himself and added more gently, seeing the Emperor, who was
sneering at him:
"I do not know whether they have caught anything, but as they never do
catch anything--"
"Perhaps, to-day, all the same, they have taken something," said the
Emperor ill-naturedly. "Such things have been seen." La Queue was about
to reply angrily. But the Abbé Radiguet, who came up, calmed him. From
the porch of the church the abbé had happened to observe the "Baleine";
and the bark seemed to be giving chase to some big fish. This news
greatly interested Coqueville. In the groups reunited on the shore
there were Mahés and Floches, the former praying that the boat might
come in with a miraculous catch, the others making vows that it might
come in empty.
Margot, holding herself very straight, did not take her eyes from the
sea. "There they are!" said she simply.
And in fact a black dot showed itself beyond the point. All looked at
it. One would have said a cork dancing on the water. The Emperor did
not see even the black dot. One must be of Coqueville to recognize at
that distance the "Baleine" and those who manned her.
"See!" said Margot, who had the best eyes of the coast, "it is Fouasse
and Rouget who are rowing--The little one is standing up in the bow."
She called Delphin "the little one" so as not to mention his name. And
from then on they followed the course of the bark, trying to account
for her strange movements. As the curé said, she appeared to be giving
chase to some great fish that might be fleeing before her. That seemed
extraordinary. The Emperor pretended that their net was without doubt
being carried away. But La Queue cried that they were do-nothings, and
that they were just amusing themselves. Quite certain they were not
fishing for seals! All the Floches made merry over that joke; while the
Mahés, vexed, declared that Rouget was a fine fellow all the same, and
that he was risking his skin while others at the least puff of wind
preferred _terra firma_. The Abbé Radiguet was forced to interpose
again for there were slaps in the air.
"What ails them?" said Margot abruptly. "They are off again!" They
ceased menacing one another, and every eye searched the horizon. The
"Baleine" was once more hidden behind the point. This time La Queue
himself became uneasy. He could not account for such maneuvres. The
fear that Rouget was really in a fair way to catch some fish threw
him off his mental balance. No one left the beach, although there was
nothing strange to be seen. They stayed there nearly two hours, they
watched incessantly for the bark, which appeared from time to time,
then disappeared. It finished by not showing itself at all any more. La
Queue, enraged, breathing in his heart the abominable wish, declared
that she must have sunk; and, as just at that moment Rouget's wife
appeared with Brisemotte, he looked at them both, sneering, while he
patted Tupain on the shoulder to console him already for the death of
his brother, Fouasse. But he stopped laughing when he caught sight of
his daughter Margot, silent and looming, her eyes on the distance; it
was quite possibly for Delphin.
"What are you up to over there?" he scolded. "Be off home with you!
Mind, Margot!"
She did not stir. Then all at once: "Ah! there they are!"
He gave a cry of surprise. Margot, with her good eyes, swore that she
no longer saw a soul in the bark; neither Rouget, nor Fouasse, nor any
one! The "Baleine," as if abandoned, ran before the wind, tacking about
every minute, rocking herself with a lazy air.
A west wind had fortunately risen and was driving her toward the land,
but with strange caprices which tossed her to right and to left. Then
all Coqueville ran down to the shore. One half shouted to the other
half, there remained not a girl in the houses to look after the soup.
It was a catastrophe; something inexplicable, the strangeness of which
completely turned their heads. Marie, the wife of Rouget, after a
moment's reflection, thought it her duty to burst into tears. Tupain
succeeded in merely carrying an air of affliction. All the Mahés were
in great distress, while the Floches tried to appear conventional.
Margot collapsed as if she had her legs broken.
"What are you up to again!" cried La Queue, who stumbled upon her.
"I am tired," she answered simply.
And she turned her face toward the sea, her cheeks between her hands,
shading her eyes with the ends of her fingers, gazing fixedly at the
bark rocking itself idly on the waves with the air of a good fellow who
has drunk too much.
In the mean while suppositions were rife. Perhaps the three men had
fallen into the water? Only, all three at a time, that seemed absurd.
La Queue would have liked well to persuade them that the "Baleine" had
gone to pieces like a rotten egg; but the boat still held the sea;
they shrugged their shoulders. Then, as if the three men had actually
perished, he remembered that he was Mayor and spoke of formalities.
"Leave off!" cried the Emperor, "Does one die in such a silly way?" "If
they had fallen overboard, little Delphin would have been here by this!"
All Coqueville had to agree, Delphin swam like a herring. But where
then could the three men be? They shouted: "I tell you, yes!"--"I
tell you, no!"--"Too stupid!"--"Stupid yourself!" And matters came
to the point of exchanging blows. The Abbé Radiguet was obliged to
make an appeal for reconciliation, while the Emperor hustled the
crowd about to establish order. Meanwhile, the bark, without haste,
continued to dance before the world. It waltzed, seeming to mock at
the people; the sea carried her in, making her salute the land in long
rhythmic reverences. Surely it was a bark in a crazy fit. Margot, her
cheeks between her hands, kept always gazing. A yawl had just put out
of the harbor to go to meet the "Baleine." It was Brisemotte, who
had exhibited that impatience, as if he had been delayed in giving
certainty to Rouget's wife. From that moment all Coqueville interested
itself in the yawl. The voices rose higher: "Well, does he see
anything?" The "Baleine" advanced with her mysterious and mocking air.
At last they saw him draw himself up and look into the bark that he had
succeeded in taking in tow. All held their breath. But, abruptly, he
burst out laughing. That was a surprise; what had he to be amused at?
"What is it? What have you got there?" they shouted to him furiously.
He, without replying, laughed still louder. He made gestures as if
to say that they would see. Then having fastened the "Baleine" to
the yawl, he towed her back. And an unlooked-for spectacle stunned
Coqueville. In the bottom of the bark, the three men--Rouget, Delphin,
Fouasse--were beatifically stretched out on their backs, snoring, with
fists clenched, dead drunk. In their midst was found a little cask
stove in, some full cask they had come across at sea and which they had
appreciated. Without doubt, it was very good, for they had drunk it all
save a liter's worth which had leaked into the bark and which was mixed
with the sea water.
"Ah! the pig!" cried the wife of Rouget, brutally, ceasing to whimper.
"Well, it's characteristic--their catch!" said La Queue, who affected
great disgust.
"Forsooth!" replied the Emperor, "they catch what they can! They have
at least caught a cask, while others have not caught anything at all."
The Mayor shut up, greatly vexed. Coqueville brayed. They understood
now. When barks are intoxicated, they dance as men do; and that one,
in truth, had her belly full of liquor. Ah, the slut! What a minx! She
festooned over the ocean with the air of a sot who could no longer
recognize his home. And Coqueville laughed, and fumed, the Mahés found
it funny, while the Floches found it disgusting. They surrounded the
"Baleine," they craned their necks, they strained their eyes to see
sleeping there the three jolly dogs who were exposing the secret
springs of their jubilation, oblivious of the crowd hanging over them.
The abuse and the laughter troubled them but little. Rouget did not
hear his wife accuse him of drinking up all they had; Fouasse did not
feel the stealthy kicks with which his brother Tupain rammed his sides.
As for Delphin, he was pretty, after he had drunk, with his blond hair,
his rosy face drowned in bliss. Margot had gotten up, and silently, for
the present, she contemplated the little fellow with a hard expression.
"Must put them to bed!" cried a voice.
But just then Delphin opened his eyes. He rolled looks of rapture over
the people. They questioned him on all sides with an eagerness that
dazed him somewhat, the more easily since he was still as drunk as a
thrush.
"Well! What?" he stuttered; "it was a little cask--There is no fish.
Therefore, we have caught a little cask."
He did not get beyond that. To every sentence he added simply: "It was
very good!"
"But what was it in the cask?" they asked him hotly.
"Ah! I don't know--it was very good."
By this time Coqueville was burning to know. Every one lowered their
noses to the boat, sniffing vigorously. With one opinion, it smelt of
liquor; only no one could guess what liquor. The Emperor, who flattered
himself that he had drunk of everything that a man can drink, said that
he would see. He solemnly took in the palm of his hand a little of the
liquor that was swimming in the bottom of the bark. The crowd became
all at once silent. They waited. But the Emperor, after sucking up a
mouthful, shook his head as if still badly informed. He sucked twice,
more and more embarrassed, with an air of uneasiness and surprise. And
he was bound to confess:
"I do not know--It's strange--If there was no salt water in it, I would
know, no doubt--My word of honor, it is very strange!"
They looked at him. They stood struck with awe before that which the
Emperor himself did not venture to pronounce. Coqueville contemplated
with respect the little empty cask.
"It was very good!" once more said Delphin, who seemed to be making
game of the people. Then, indicating the sea with a comprehensive
sweep, he added: "If you want some, there is more there--I saw
them--little casks--little casks--little casks--"
And he rocked himself with the refrain which he kept singing, gazing
tenderly at Margot. He had just caught sight of her. Furious, she made
a motion as if to slap him; but he did not even close his eyes; he
awaited the slap with an air of tenderness.
The Abbé Radiguet, puzzled by that unknown tipple, he, too, dipped his
finger in the bark and sucked it. Like the Emperor, he shook his head:
no, he was not familiar with that, it was very extraordinary. They
agreed on but one point: the cask must have been wreckage from the ship
in distress, signaled Sunday evening. The English ships often carried
to Grandport such cargoes of liquor and fine wines.
Little by little the day faded and the people were withdrawn into
shadow. But La Queue remained absorbed, tormented by an idea which he
no longer expressed. He stopped, he listened a last time to Delphin,
whom they were carrying along, and who was repeating in his sing-song
voice: "Little casks--little casks--little casks--if you want some,
there are more!"
III
That night the weather changed completely. When Coqueville awoke the
following day an unclouded sun was shining; the sea spread out without
a wrinkle, like a great piece of green satin. And it was warm, one of
those pale glows of autumn.
First of the village, La Queue had risen, still clouded from the
dreams of the night. He kept looking for a long time toward the sea,
to the right, to the left. At last, with a sour look, he said that he
must in any event satisfy M. Mouchel. And he went away at once with
Tupain and Brisemotte, threatening Margot to touch up her sides if
she did not walk straight. As the "Zéphir" left the harbor, and as
he saw the "Baleine" swinging heavily at her anchor, he cheered up a
little, saying: "To-day, I guess, not a bit of it! Blow out the candle,
Jeanetton! those gentlemen have gone to bed!"
And as soon as the "Zéphir" had reached the open sea, La Queue cast
his nets. After that he went to visit his "jambins." The jambins are a
kind of elongated eel-pot in which they catch more, especially lobsters
and red gurnet. But in spite of the calm sea, he did well to visit his
jambins one by one. All were empty; at the bottom of the last one, as
if in mockery, he found a little mackerel, which he threw back angrily
into the sea. It was fate; there were weeks like that when the fish
flouted Coqueville, and always at a time when M. Mouchel had expressed
a particular desire for them. When La Queue drew in his nets, an hour
later, he found nothing but a bunch of seaweed. Straightway he swore,
his fists clenched, raging so much the more for the vast serenity of
the ocean, lazy and sleeping like a sheet of burnished silver under
the blue sky. The "Zéphir," without a waver, glided along in gentle
ease. La Queue decided to go in again, after having cast his nets once
more. In the afternoon he came to see them, and he menaced God and the
saints, cursing in abominable words.
In the mean while, Rouget, Fouasse, and Delphin kept on sleeping. They
did not succeed in standing up until the dinner hour. They recollected
nothing, they were conscious only of having been treated to something
extraordinary, something which they did not understand. In the
afternoon, as they were all three down at the harbor, the Emperor tried
to question them concerning the liquor, now that they had recovered
their senses. It was like, perhaps, eau-de-vie with liquorice-juice in
it; or rather one might say rum, sugared and burned. They said "Yes";
they said "No." From their replies, the Emperor suspected that it was
ratafia; but he would not have sworn to it. That day Rouget and his
men had too many pains in their sides to go a-fishing. Moreover, they
knew that La Queue had gone out without success that morning, and they
talked of waiting until the next day before visiting their jambins. All
three of them, seated on blocks of stone, watched the tide come in,
their backs rounded, their mouths clammy, half-asleep.
But suddenly Delphin woke up; he jumped on to the stone, his eyes on
the distance, crying: "Look, Boss, off there!"
"What?" asked Rouget, who stretched his limbs.
"A cask."
Rouget and Fouasse were at once on their feet, their eyes gleaming,
sweeping the horizon.
"Where is it, lad? Where is the cask?" repeated the boss, greatly moved.
"Off there--to the left--that black spot."
The others saw nothing. Then Rouget swore an oath. "Nom de Dieu!"
He had just spotted the cask, big as a lentil on the white water in a
slanting ray of the setting sun. And he ran to the "Baleine," followed
by Delphin and Fouasse, who darted forward tapping their backs with
their heels and making the pebbles roll.
The "Baleine" was just putting out from the harbor when the news that
they saw a cask out at sea was circulated in Coqueville. The children,
the women, began to run. They shouted: "A cask! a cask!"
"Do you see it? The current is driving it toward Grandport."
"Ah, yes! on the left--a cask! Come, quick!"
And Coqueville came; tumbled down from its rock; the children arrived
head over heels, while the women picked up their skirts with both hands
to descend quickly. Soon the entire village was on the beach as on the
night before.
Margot showed herself for an instant, then she ran back at full speed
to the house, where she wished to forestall her father, who was
discussing an official process with the Emperor. At last La Queue
appeared. He was livid; he said to the _garde champêtre_: "Hold your
peace! It's Rouget who has sent you here to beguile me. Well, then, he
shall not get it. You'll see!"
When he saw the "Baleine," three hundred metres out, making with
all her oars toward the black dot, rocking in the distance, his fury
redoubled. And he shoved Tupain and Brisemotte into the "Zéphir," and
he pulled out in turn, repeating: "No, they shall not have it; I'll die
sooner!"