PONT-L'ABBÉ.
At five o'clock in the evening, we arrived at Pont-l'Abbé, covered with
quite a respectable coating of mud and dust, which fell from our
clothing upon the floor of the inn with such disastrous abundance, every
time we moved, that we were almost mortified at the mess we made.
Pont-l'Abbé is a peaceful little town, cut in two in its entire length
by a broad, paved street. Its modest inhabitants cannot possibly look
any more stupid or insignificant than the place itself.
For those who must see something wherever they go, there are the
unimportant remains of the castle and the church, an edifice that would
be quite passable were it not for the thick coat of paint that covers
it. The chapel of the Virgin was a bower of flowers; bunches of
jonquils, pansies, roses, jessamine, and honeysuckle were arranged in
blue glasses or white china vases and spread their bright colours over
the altar and upward between the two tall candlesticks framing the
Virgin's face and her silver crown, from which fell a long veil caught
on the gold star of the plaster Infant she held in her arms. One could
smell the odour of the holy water and the flowers. It was a perfumed,
mysterious little nook all by itself, a hidden retreat decorated by
loving hands, and peculiarly adapted for the exhalation of mystical
desires and long, heart-broken orisons. All his heart's sensuousness,
compressed by the climate and numbed by misery, is brought here by man
and laid at the feet of Mary, the Divine Mother, and he is thus able to
satisfy his unquenchable longing for love and enjoyment. No matter if
the roof leaks and there are no benches or chairs in the rest of the
church, you will always find the chapel of the Virgin bright with
flowers and lights, for it seems as if all the religious tenderness of
Brittany has concentrated there; it is the softest spot of its heart; it
is its weakness, its passion, its treasure. Though there are no flowers
in these parts, there are flowers in the church; though the people are
poor, the Virgin is always sumptuous and beautiful. She smiles at you,
and despairing souls go to warm themselves at her knees as at a
hearthstone that is never extinguished. One is astonished at the way
these people cling to their belief; but does one know the pleasure and
voluptuousness they derive from it? Is not asceticism superior
epicureanism, fasting, refined gormandising? Religion can supply one
with almost carnal sensations; prayer has its debauchery and
mortification its raptures; and the men who come at night and kneel in
front of this dressed statue, feel their hearts beat thickly and a sort
of vague intoxication, while in the streets of the city, the children on
their way home from school stop and gaze dreamily at the woman who
smiles at them from the stained window of the church.
But you must attend a fête in order to gain an insight into the gloomy
character of these people. They don't dance; they merely turn; they
don't sing; they only whistle. That very evening we went to a
neighbouring village to be present at the inauguration of a
threshing-floor. Two _biniou_ players were stationed on top of the wall
surrounding the yard, and played continuously while two long lines of
men and women, following in one anothers' footsteps, trotted around the
place and described several figures. The lines would turn, break up and
form again at irregular intervals. The heavy feet of the dancers struck
the ground without the slightest attempt at rhythm, while the shrill
notes of the music succeeded one another rapidly and with desperate
monotony. The dancers who tired withdrew without interrupting the dance,
and when they had rested, they re-entered it. During the whole time we
watched this peculiar performance, the crowd stopped only once, while
the musicians drank some cider; then, when they had finished, the lines
formed anew and the dance began again. At the entrance of the yard was a
table covered with nuts; beside it stood a pitcher of brandy and on the
ground was a keg of cider; near by stood a citizen in a green frock coat
and a leather cap; a little farther away was a man wearing a jacket and
a sword suspended from a white shoulder-belt; they were the _commissaire
de police_, of Pont-l'Abbé and his _garde-champêtre_. Suddenly, M. le
commissaire pulled out his watch and motioned to the _garde_. The latter
drew several peasants aside, spoke to them in a low tone, and presently
the assembly broke up.
All four of us returned to the city together, which afforded us the
opportunity of again admiring mother of the harmonious combinations of
Providence which had created this _commissaire de police_ for this
_garde-champêtre_ and this _garde-champêtre_ for his _commissaire de
police_. They were made for each other. The same fact would give rise in
both of them to the same reflections; from the same idea both would draw
parallel conclusions. When the _commissaire_ laughed, the _garde_
grinned; when he assumed a serious expression, his shadow grew gloomy;
if the frock-coat said, "This must be done," the jacket replied, "I
think so, too;" if the coat added, "It is necessary;" the waistcoat
affirmed: "It is indispensable." Notwithstanding this inward
comprehension, their outward relations of rank and authority remained
unchanged. For the _garde_ spoke in a lower tone than the _commissaire_,
and was a trifle shorter and walked behind him. The _commissaire_ was
polished, important, fluent; he consulted himself, ruminated, talked to
himself, and smacked his tongue; the _garde_ was deferential, attentive,
pensive and observing, and would utter an exclamation from time to time
and scratch his nose. On the way, he inquired about the news, asked the
_commissaire's_ advice, and solicited his orders, while his superior
questioned, meditated, and issued commands.
We had just come in sight of the first houses of the city, when we heard
shrieks issue from one of them. The street was blocked by an excited
crowd, and several persons rushed up to the _commissaire_ and exclaimed:
"Come, come quickly, Monsieur, they're having a fight! Two women are
being killed!"
"By whom?"
"We don't know."
"Why?"
"They are bleeding."
"But with what?"
"With a rake."
"Where's the murderer?"
"One on the head and the other on the arm. Go in, they're waiting for
you; the women are there."
So the _commissaire_ went in and we followed. We heard sobs, screams,
and excited conversation and saw a jostling, curious mob. People stepped
on one another's toes, dug one another's ribs, cursed, and caused
general confusion.
The _commissaire_ got angry; but as he could not speak Breton, the
_garde_ got angry for him and chased the crowd out, taking each
individual by his shoulders and shoving him through the door into the
street.
When the room had been cleared of all except a dozen persons, we managed
to discover in a corner, a piece of flesh hanging from an arm and a mass
of black hair dripping with blood. An old woman and a young girl had
been hurt in the fight. The old woman was tall and angular and had skin
as yellow and wrinkled as parchment; she was standing up, groaning and
holding her left arm with her right hand; she did not seem to be
suffering much, but the girl was crying. She was sitting on a chair with
her hands spread out on her knees and her head bent low; she was
trembling convulsively and shaking with low sobs. As they replied by
complaints to all our questions, and as the testimony of the witnesses
was conflicting, we could not ascertain who had started the fight or
what it was about. Some said that a husband had surprised his wife;
others, that the women had started the row and that the owner of the
house had tried to kill them in order to make them stop. But no one knew
anything definite. M. _le commissaire_ was greatly perplexed and the
_garde_ perfectly nonplussed.
As the doctor was away, and as it might be that the good people did not
wish his services, because it meant expense, we had the audacity to
offer the help of our limited knowledge and rushed off for our satchels,
a piece of cerecloth, and some linen and lint which we had brought with
us in anticipation of possible accidents.
It would really have been an amusing sight for our friends, had they
been able to see us spread out our bistoury, our pincers, and three
pairs of scissors, one with gold branches, on the table of this hut. The
_commissaire_ praised our philanthropy, the women watched us in awed
silence, and the tallow candle melted and ran down the iron candle-stick
in spite of the efforts of the _garde_, who kept trimming the wick with
his fingers. We attended to the old woman first. The cut had been given
conscientiously; the bare arm showed the bone, and a triangle of flesh
about four inches long hung over it like a cuff. We tried to put this
back in its place by adjusting it carefully over the edge of the gaping
wound and bandaging the arm. It is quite possible that the violent
compression the member was subjected to caused mortification to set in,
and that the patient may have died.
We did not know exactly what ailed the girl. The blood trickled through
her hair, but we could not see whence it came; it formed oily blotches
all over it and ran down into her neck. The _garde_, our interpreter,
bade her remove the cotton band she wore on her head, and her tresses
tumbled down in a dull, dark mass and uncoiled like a cascade full of
bloody threads. We parted the thick, soft, abundant locks, and found a
swelling as large as a nut and pierced by an oval hole on the back of
her head. We shaved the surrounding parts; and after we had washed and
stanched the wound, we melted some tallow and spread it over some lint,
which we adapted to the swelling with strips of diachylum. Over this we
placed first a bandage, then the cotton band, and then the cap. While
this was taking place, the justice of the peace arrived. The first thing
he did was to ask for the rake, and the only thing he seemed to care
about was to examine it. He took hold of the handle, counted the teeth,
waved it in the air, tested the iron and bent the wood.
"Is this," he demanded, "the instrument with which the assault was
committed? Jérôme, are you sure it is?"
"They say so, Monsieur."
"You were not present, Monsieur le commissaire?"
"No, Monsieur le juge de paix."
"I would like to know whether the blows were really dealt with a rake or
whether they were given with a blunt instrument. Who is the assailant?
And did the rake belong to him or to some one else? Was it really with
this that these women were hurt? Or was it, I repeat, with a blunt
instrument? Do they wish to lodge a complaint? What do you think about
it, Monsieur le commissaire?"
The victims said little, remarking only that they suffered great pain;
so they were given over night to decide whether or not they wished to
seek redress by law. The young girl could hardly speak, and the old
woman's ideas were muddled, seeing that she was drunk, according to what
the neighbours intimated,--a fact which explained her insensibility when
we had endeavoured to relieve her suffering.
After they had looked at us as keenly as they could in order to
ascertain who we were, the authorities of Pont-l'Abbé bade us good night
and thanked us for the services we had rendered the community. We put
our things back into our satchel, and the _commissaire_ departed with
the _garde_, the _garde_ with his sword, and the justice of the peace
with the rake.