and the "Baleine." When the latter saw the first leave the harbor, she
understood the danger, and shot off with all her speed. She may have
been four hundred metres ahead; but the chances remained even, for the
"Zéphir" was otherwise light and swift; so excitement was at its height
on the beach. The Mahés and the Floches had instinctively formed into
two groups, following eagerly the vicissitudes of the struggle, each
upholding its own boat. At first the "Baleine" kept her advantage, but
as soon as the "Zéphir" spread herself, they saw that she was gaining
little by little. The "Baleine" made a supreme effort and succeeded
for a few minutes in holding her distance. Then the "Zéphir" once more
gained upon the "Baleine," came up with her at extraordinary speed.
From that moment on, it was evident that the two barks would meet in
the neighborhood of the cask. Victory hung on a circumstance, on the
slightest mishap.
"The 'Baleine'! The 'Baleine'!" cried the Mahés.
But they soon ceased shouting. When the "Baleine" was almost touching
the cask, the "Zéphir," by a bold maneuvre, managed to pass in front of
her and throw the cask to the left, where La Queue harpooned it with a
thrust of the boat-hook.
"The 'Zéphir'! the 'Zéphir'!" screamed the Floches.
And the Emperor, having spoken of foul play, big words were exchanged.
Margot clapped her hands. The Abbé Radiguet came down with his
breviary, made a profound remark which abruptly calmed the people, and
then threw them into consternation.
"They will, perhaps, drink it all, these, too," he murmured with a
melancholy air.
At sea, between the "Baleine" and the "Zéphir," a violent quarrel broke
out. Rouget called La Queue a thief, while the latter called Rouget a
good-for-nothing. The men even took up their oars to beat each other
down, and the adventure lacked little of turning into a naval combat.
More than this, they engaged to meet on land, showing their fists and
threatening to disembowel each other as soon as they found each other
again.
"The rascal!" grumbled Rouget. "You know, that cask is bigger than the
one of yesterday. It's yellow, this one--it ought to be great." Then
in accents of despair: "Let's go and see the jambins; there may very
possibly be lobsters in them."
And the "Baleine" went on heavily to the left, steering toward the
point.
In the "Zéphir," La Queue had to get in a passion in order to hold
Tupain and Brisemotte from the cask. The boat-hook, in smashing a hoop,
had made a leaking for the red liquid, which the two men tasted from
the ends of their fingers, and which they found exquisite. One might
easily drink a glass without its producing much effect. But La Queue
would not have it. He caulked the cask and declared that the first who
sucked it should have a talk with him. On land, they would see.
"Then," asked Tupain, sullenly, "are we going to draw out the jambins?"
"Yes, right away; there is no hurry!" replied La Queue.
He also gazed lovingly at the barrel. He felt his limbs melt with
longing to go in at once and taste it. The fish bored him.
"Bah!" said he at the end of a silence. "Let's go back, for it's late.
We will return to-morrow." And he was relaxing his fishing when he
noticed another cask at his right, this one very small, and which stood
on end, turning on itself like a top. That was the last straw for
the nets and the jambins. No one even spoke of them any longer. The
"Zéphir" gave chase to the little barrel, which was caught very easily.
During this time a similar adventure overtook the "Baleine." After
Rouget had already visited five jambins completely empty, Delphin,
always on the watch, cried out that he saw something. But it did not
have the appearance of a cask, it was too long.
"It's a beam," said Fouasse.
Rouget let fall his sixth jambin without drawing it out of the water.
"Let's go and see, all the same," said he.
As they advanced, they thought they recognized at first a beam, a
chest, the trunk of a tree. Then they gave a cry of joy.
It was a real cask, but a very queer cask, such as they had never seen
before. One would have said a tube, bulging in the middle and closed at
the two ends by a layer of plaster.
"Ah, that's comical!" cried Rouget, in rapture. "This one I want the
Emperor to taste. Come, children, let's go in."
They all agreed not to touch it, and the "Baleine" returned to
Coqueville at the same moment as the "Zéphir," in its turn, anchored
in the little harbor. Not one inquisitive had left the beach. Cries of
joy greeted that unexpected catch of three casks. The _gamins_ hurled
their caps into the air, while the women had at once gone on the run
to look for glasses. It was decided to taste the liquid on the spot.
The wreckage belonged to the village. Not one protest arose. Only they
formed into two groups, the Mahés surrounded Rouget, the Floches would
not let go of La Queue.
"Emperor, the first glass for you!" cried Rouget. "Tell us what it is."
The liquor was of a beautiful golden yellow. The _garde champêtre_
raised his glass, looked at it, smelt it, then decided to drink.
"That comes from Holland," said he, after a long silence.
He did not give any other information. All the Mahés drank with
deference. It was rather thick, and they stood surprised, for it tasted
of flowers. The women found it very good. As for the men, they would
have preferred less sugar. Nevertheless, at the bottom it ended by
being strong at the third or fourth glass. The more they drank, the
better they liked it. The men became jolly, the women grew funny.
But the Emperor, in spite of his recent quarrels with the Mayor, had
gone to hang about the group of Floches.
The biggest cask gave out a dark-red liquor, while they drew from the
smallest a liquid white as water from the rock; and it was this latter
that was the stiffest, a regular pepper, something that skinned the
tongue.
Not one of the Floches recognized it, neither the red nor the white.
There were, however, some wags there. It annoyed them to be regaling
themselves without knowing over what.
"I say, Emperor, taste that for me!" said La Queue, thus taking the
first step.
The Emperor, who had been waiting for the invitation, posed once more
as connoisseur.
"As for the red," he said, "there is orange in that! And for the
white," he declared, "that--that is excellent!"
They had to content themselves with these replies, for he shook his
head with a knowing air, with the happy look of a man who has given
satisfaction to the world.
The Abbé Radiguet, alone, did not seem convinced. As for him, he had
the names on the tip of his tongue; and to thoroughly reassure himself,
he drank small glasses, one after the other, repeating: "Wait, wait, I
know what it is. In a moment I will tell you."
In the mean while, little by little, merriment grew in the group of the
Mahés and the group of the Floches. The latter, particularly, laughed
very loud because they had mixed the liquors, a thing that excited
them the more. For the rest, the one and the other of the groups kept
apart. They did not offer each other of their casks, they simply
cast sympathetic glances, seized with the unavowed desire to taste
their neighbor's liquor, which might possibly be better. The inimical
brothers, Tupain and Fouasse, were in close proximity all the evening
without showing their fists. It was remarked, also, that Rouget and
his wife drank from the same glass. As for Margot, she distributed the
liquor among the Floches, and as she filled the glasses too full, and
the liquor ran over her fingers, she kept sucking them continually,
so well that, though obeying her father who forbade her to drink, she
became as fuddled as a girl in vintage time. It was not unbecoming to
her; on the contrary, she got rosy all over, her eyes were like candles.
The sun set, the evening was like the softness of springtime.
Coqueville had finished the casks and did not dream of going home to
dine. They found themselves too comfortable on the beach. When it was
pitch night, Margot, sitting apart, felt some one blowing on her neck.
It was Delphin, very gay, walking on all fours, prowling behind her
like a wolf. She repressed a cry so as not to awaken her father, who
would have sent Delphin a kick in the back.
"Go away, imbecile!" she murmured, half angry, half laughing; "you will
get yourself caught!"
IV
The following day Coqueville, in rising, found the sun already high
above the horizon. The air was softer still, a drowsy sea under a clear
sky, one of those times of laziness when it is so good to do nothing.
It was a Wednesday. Until breakfast time, Coqueville rested from the
fête of the previous evening. Then they went down to the beach to see.
That Wednesday the fish, the Widow Dufeu, M. Mouchel, all were
forgotten. La Queue and Rouget did not even speak of visiting their
jambins. Toward three o'clock they sighted some casks. Four of them
were dancing before the village. The "Zéphir" and the "Baleine" went
in chase; but as there was enough for all, they disputed no longer.
Each boat had its share. At six o'clock, after having swept all over
the little gulf, Rouget and La Queue came in, each with three casks.
And the fête began again. The women had brought down tables for
convenience. They had brought benches as well; they set up two cafés
in the open air, such as they had at Grandport. The Mahés were on the
left; the Floches on the right, still separated by a bar of sand.
Nevertheless, that evening the Emperor, who went from one group to the
other, carried his glasses full, so as to give every one a taste of the
six casks. At about nine o'clock they were much gayer than the night
before. The next day Coqueville could never remember how it had gone to
bed.
Thursday the "Zéphir" and the "Baleine" caught but four casks, two
each, but they were enormous. Friday the fishing was superb, undreamed
of; there were seven casks, three for Rouget and four for La Queue.
Coqueville was entering upon a golden age. They never did anything
any more. The fishermen, working off the alcohol of the night before,
slept till noon. Then they strolled down to the beach and interrogated
the sea. Their sole anxiety was to know what liquor the sea was going
to bring them. They waited there for hours, their eyes strained; they
raised shouts of joy when wreckage appeared.
The women and the children, from the tops of the rocks, pointed with
sweeping gestures even to the least bunch of seaweed rolled in by the
waves. And, at all hours, the "Zéphir" and the "Baleine" stood ready
to leave. They put out, they beat the gulf, they fished for casks, as
they had fished for tun; disdaining now the tame mackerel who capered
about in the sun, and the lazy sole rocked on the foam of the water.
Coqueville watched the fishing, dying of laughter on the sands. Then in
the evening they drank the catch.
That which enraptured Coqueville was that the casks did not cease.
When there were no more, there were still more! The ship that had been
lost must truly have had a pretty cargo aboard; and Coqueville became
egoist and merry, joked over the wrecked ship, a regular wine-cellar,
enough to intoxicate all the fish of the ocean. Added to that, never
did they catch two casks alike; they were of all shapes, of all sizes,
of all colors. Then, in every cask there was a different liquor. So
the Emperor was plunged into profound reveries; he who had drunk
everything, he could identify nothing any more. La Queue declared
that never had he seen such a cargo. The Abbé Radiguet guessed it was
an order from some savage king, wishing to set up his wine-cellar.
Coqueville, rocked in mysterious intoxication, no longer tried to
understand.
The ladies preferred the "creams"; they had cream of moka, of cacao, of
mint, of vanilla. Marie Rouget drank one night so much anisette that
she was sick.
Margot and the other young ladies tapped the curaçao, the benedictine,
the trappistine, the chartreuse. As to the cassis, it was reserved
for the little children. Naturally the men rejoiced more when they
caught cognacs, rums, gins, everything that burned the mouth. Then
surprises produced themselves. A cask of raki of Chio, flavored with
mastic, stupefied Coqueville, which thought that it had fallen on a
cask of essence of turpentine. All the same they drank it, for they
must lose nothing; but they talked about it for a long time. Arrack
from Batavia, Swedish eau-de-vie with cumin, tuica calugaresca from
Rumania, slivowitz from Servia, all equally overturned every idea that
Coqueville had of what one should endure. At heart they had a weakness
for kümmel and kirschwasser, for liqueurs as pale as water and stiff
enough to kill a man.
Heavens! was it possible so many good things had been invented! At
Coqueville they had known nothing but eau-de-vie; and, moreover, not
every one at that. So their imaginations finished in exultation; they
arrived at a state of veritable worship, in face of that inexhaustible
variety, for that which intoxicates. Oh! to get drunk every night
on something new, on something one does not even know the name of!
It seemed like a fairy-tale, a rain, a fountain, that would spout
extraordinary liquids, all the distilled alcohols, perfumed with all
the flowers and all the fruits of creation.
So then, Friday evening, there were seven casks on the beach!
Coqueville did not leave the beach. They lived there, thanks to the
mildness of the season. Never in September had they enjoyed so fine a
week. The fête had lasted since Monday, and there was no reason why
it should not last forever if Providence should continue to send them
casks; for the Abbé Radiguet saw therein the hand of Providence. All
business was suspended; what use drudging when pleasure came to them
in their sleep? They were all bourgeois, bourgeois who were drinking
expensive liquors without having to pay anything at the café. With
hands in pocket, Coqueville, basked in the sunshine waiting for the
evening's spree. Moreover, it did not sober up; it enjoyed side by side
the gaieties of kümmel, of kirschwasser, of ratafia; in seven days
they knew the wraths of gin, the tendernesses of curaçao, the laughter
of cognac. And Coqueville remained as innocent as a new-born child,
knowing nothing about anything, drinking with conviction that which the
good Lord sent them.
It was on Friday that the Mahés and the Floches fraternized. They were
very jolly that evening. Already, the evening before, distances had
drawn nearer, the most intoxicated had trodden down the bar of sand
which separated the two groups. There remained but one step to take. On
the side of the Floches the four casks were emptying, while the Mahés
were equally finishing their three little barrels; just three liqueurs
which made the French flag; one blue, one white, and one red. The blue
filled the Floches with jealousy, because a blue liqueur seemed to them
something really supernatural. La Queue, grown good-natured now ever
since he had been drunk, advanced, a glass in his hand, feeling that he
ought to take the first step as magistrate.
"See here, Rouget," he stuttered, "will you drink with me?"
"Willingly," replied Rouget, who was staggering under a feeling of
tenderness.
And they fell upon each other's necks. Then they all wept, so great was
their emotion. The Mahés and the Floches embraced, they who had been
devouring one another for three centuries. The Abbé Radiguet, greatly
touched, again spoke of the finger of God. They drank to each other in
the three liqueurs, the blue, the white, and the red.
"_Vive la France!_" cried the Emperor.
The blue was worthless, the white of not much account, but the red was
really a success. Then they tapped the casks of the Floches. Then they
danced. As there was no band, some good-natured boys clapped their
hands, whistling, which excited the girls. The fête became superb. The
seven casks were placed in a row; each could choose that which he liked
best. Those who had had enough stretched themselves out on the sands,
where they slept for a while; and when they awoke they began again.
Little by little the others spread the fun until they took up the whole
beach. Right up to midnight they skipped in the open air. The sea had
a soft sound, the stars shone in a deep sky, a sky of vast peace. It
was the serenity of the infant ages enveloping the joy of a tribe of
savages, intoxicated by their first cask of eau-de-vie.
Nevertheless, Coqueville went home to bed again. When there was nothing
more left to drink, the Floches and the Mahés helped one another,
carried one another, and ended by finding their beds again one way
or another. On Saturday the fête lasted until nearly two o'clock in
the morning. They had caught six casks, two of them enormous. Fouasse
and Tupain almost fought. Tupain, who was wicked when drunk, talked
of finishing his brother. But that quarrel disgusted every one, the
Floches as well as the Mahés. Was it reasonable to keep on quarreling
when the whole village was embracing? They forced the two brothers to
drink together. They were sulky. The Emperor promised to watch them.
Neither did the Rouget household get on well. When Marie had taken
anisette she was prodigal in her attentions to Brisemotte, which Rouget
could not behold with a calm eye, especially since having become
sensitive, he also wished to be loved. The Abbé Radiguet, full of
forbearance, did well in preaching forgiveness of injuries; they feared
an accident.
"Bah!" said La Queue; "all will arrange itself. If the fishing is good
to-morrow, you will see--Your health!"
However, La Queue himself was not yet perfect. He still kept his eye on
Delphin and leveled kicks at him whenever he saw him approach Margot.
The Emperor was indignant, for there was no common sense in preventing
two young people from laughing. But La Queue always swore to kill his
daughter sooner than give her to "the little one." Moreover, Margot
would not be willing.
"Isn't it so? You are too proud," he cried. "Never would you marry a
ragamuffin!"
"Never, papa!" answered Margot.
Saturday, Margot drank a great deal of sugary liqueur. No one had any
idea of such sugar. As she was no longer on her guard, she soon found
herself sitting close to the cask. She laughed, happy, in paradise;
she saw stars, and it seemed to her that there was music within her,
playing dance tunes. Then it was that Delphin slipped into the shadow
of the casks. He took her hand; he asked: "Say, Margot, will you?"
She kept on smiling. Then she replied: "It is papa who will not."
"Oh! that's nothing," said the little one; "you know the old ones never
will--provided you are willing, you." And he grew bold, he planted a
kiss on her neck. She bridled; shivers ran along her shoulders. "Stop!
You tickle me."
But she talked no more of giving him a slap. In the first place, she
was not able to, for her hands were too weak. Then it seemed nice
to her, those little kisses on the neck. It was like the liqueur
that enervated her so deliciously. She ended by turning her head and
extending her chin, just like a cat.
"There!" she stammered, "there under the ear--that tickles me. Oh! that
is nice!"
They had both forgotten La Queue. Fortunately the Emperor was on guard.
He pointed them out to the Abbé.
"Look there, Curé--it would be better to marry them."
"Morals would gain thereby," declared the priest sententiously.
And he charged himself with the matter for the morrow. 'Twas he himself
that would speak to La Queue. Meanwhile La Queue had drunk so much that
the Emperor and the Curé were forced to carry him home. On the way they
tried to reason with him on the subject of his daughter; but they could
draw from him nothing but growls. Behind them, in the untroubled night,
Delphin led Margot home.
The next day by four o'clock the "Zéphir" and the "Baleine" had already
caught seven casks. At six o'clock the "Zéphir" caught two more. That
made nine.
Then Coqueville fêted Sunday. It was the seventh day that it had been
drunk. And the fête was complete--a fête such as no one had ever
seen, and which no one will ever see again. Speak of it in Lower
Normandy, and they will tell you with laughter, "Ah! yes, the fête at
Coqueville!"
V
In the mean while, since the Tuesday, M. Mouchel had been surprised
at not seeing either Rouget or La Queue arrive at Grandport. What the
devil could those fellows be doing? The sea was fine, the fishing
ought to be splendid. Very possibly they wished to bring a whole load
of soles and lobsters in all at once. And he was patient until the
Wednesday.
Wednesday, M. Mouchel was angry. You must know that the Widow Dufeu
was not a commodious person. She was a woman who in a flash came to
high words. Although he was a handsome fellow, blond and powerful, he
trembled before her, especially since he had dreams of marrying her,
always with little attentions, free to subdue her with a slap if he
ever became her master. Well, that Wednesday morning the Widow Dufeu
stormed, complaining that the bundles were no longer forwarded, that
the sea failed; and she accused him of running after the girls of the
coast instead of busying himself with the whiting and the mackerel
which ought to be yielding in abundance. M. Mouchel, vexed, fell back
on Coqueville's singular breach of honor. For a moment surprise calmed
the Widow Dufeu. What was Coqueville dreaming about? Never had it so
conducted itself before. But she declared immediately that she had
nothing to do with Coqueville; that it was M. Mouchel's business to
look into matters, that she should take a partner if he allowed himself
to be played with again by the fishermen. In a word, much disquieted,
he sent Rouget and La Queue to the devil. Perhaps, after all, they
would come to-morrow.
The next day, Thursday, neither the one nor the other appeared. Toward
evening, M. Mouchel, desperate, climbed the rock to the left of
Grandport, from which one could see in the distance Coqueville, with
its yellow spot of beach. He gazed at it a long time. The village had a
tranquil look in the sun, light smoke was rising from the chimneys; no
doubt the women were preparing the soup. M. Mouchel was satisfied that
Coqueville was still in its place, that a rock from the cliff had not
crushed it, and he understood less and less. As he was about to descend
again, he thought he could make out two black points on the gulf; the
"Baleine" and the "Zéphir." After that he went back to calm the Widow
Dufeu. Coqueville was fishing. The night passed. Friday was here.
Still nothing of Coqueville. M. Mouchel climbed to his rock more than
ten times. He was beginning to lose his head; the Widow Dufeu behaved
abominably to him, without his finding anything to reply. Coqueville
was always there, in the sun, warming itself like a lazy lizard. Only,
M. Mouchel saw no more smoke. The village seemed dead. Had they all
died in their holes? On the beach, there was quite a movement, but
that might be seaweed rocked by the tide. Saturday, still no one. The
Widow Dufeu scolded no more; her eyes were fixed, her lips white. M.
Mouchel passed two hours on the rock. A curiosity grew in him, a purely
personal need of accounting to himself for the strange immobility of
the village. The old walls sleeping beatifically in the sun ended by
worrying him. His resolution was taken; he would set out that Monday
very early in the morning and try to get down there near nine o'clock.
It was not a promenade to go to Coqueville. M. Mouchel preferred to
follow the route by land, in that way he would come upon the village
without their expecting him. A wagon carried him as far as Robineux,
where he left it under a shed, for it would not have been prudent to
risk it in the middle of the gorge. And he set off bravely, having to
make nearly seven kilometers over the most abominable of roads. The
route was otherwise of a wild beauty; it descended by continual turns
between two enormous ledges of rock, so narrow in places that three
men could not walk abreast. Farther on it skirted the precipices; the
gorge opened abruptly; and one caught glimpses of the sea, of immense
blue horizons. But M. Mouchel was not in a state of mind to admire the
landscape. He swore as the pebbles rolled under his feet. It was the
fault of Coqueville, he promised to shake up those do-nothings well.
But, in the meantime, he was approaching. All at once, in the turning
at the last rock, he saw the twenty houses of the village hanging to
the flank of the cliff.