Bearn And The Pyrenees Part 8

CHAPTER X.

LA ROCh.e.l.lE--LES TROIS CHANDELIERS--OYSTERS--BATHING ESTABLISHMENT--GAIETY--MILITARY DISCIPLINE--CURIOUS ARCADES--STORY OF AUFFReDY.

ON arriving at La Roch.e.l.le, early in a bright morning at the beginning of September, we found the town so full that we had immediately to inst.i.tute a search for an hotel, as that at which we stopped had no accommodation. We judged so before we alighted from the _coupe_, by the air of indifference visible on the face of every waiter and chambermaid, to whom our arrival seemed a matter of pity, rather than congratulation. After seeking through the greatest part of the town, we were conducted to a curious-looking street, from the roofs of almost every house in which projected grinning _gargouilles_, whose grotesque faces peeped inquisitively forth from the exalted position which they had maintained for several centuries; and, glaring in inviting grandeur, swung aloft a board on which was depicted three golden candlesticks. At Les Trois Chandeliers, accordingly, we applied, and found admission; the slovenly, but good-humoured landlady bestirring herself instantly to get ready the only room she had vacant. She was a.s.sisted in her various arrangements, or rather attended, by a sulky-looking girl with a hideous square cap; who stood by while her mistress heaped mattress upon mattress, and bustled about with zealous noise and clatter. She gave us to understand that certain of her neighbours were apt to give themselves airs, and accept or refuse visitors as their caprice dictated; but, for her part, she had no pride, and never acted in so unkind a manner: she always attended to everything herself; so that every one was satisfied in her house, and the Trois Chandeliers maintained its reputation of a century, during which time it had always been kept by one of the family.

Considering these facts, the state of the entrance and kitchen, through which, as is usual in France, visitors must pa.s.s to arrive at the _salon_, somewhat surprised us. The wide, yawning, black gulf, down which we had dived from the street, reminded us strongly of the entrance of the Arenes, at Poitiers, which gave pa.s.sage to the beasts about to combat: it was a low, vaulted pa.s.sage, enc.u.mbered with waggons and diligences and wheelbarrows, with no light but what it gained from the street and a murky court beyond; it was paved with uneven stones, between which were s.p.a.ces filled with mud; dogs and ducks sported along the gutter in the centre, following which, you arrived at some dirty steps leading to the kitchen, or, if you preferred a longer stroll amidst the shades, you might arrive at a low door which led through another court to the dining-room, which was a handsome apartment adorned with statues and crimson-and-white draperies, with a flower-garden opening from it. This room we were not sorry to enter, lured by the promise of some of the finest oysters in Europe. We had heard their eulogium before from a very talkative artist of Poitiers, who described them as of enormous, nay incredible, size, but delicate as _natives_: we were, therefore, surprised to see perfect miniatures, not larger than a s.h.i.+lling, very well-flavoured, but _unfed_. They form the _delices_ of all this part of the world, at this season, and are eagerly sought for from hence to the furthest navigable point of the Garonne.

We were particularly fortunate in the weather, which was bright, warm, and inspiriting; and when we reached the walk which leads to the baths, we were in raptures with the whole scene which presented itself. The fine broad sea, smooth and green, lay s.h.i.+ning in the sun, without a ripple to disturb its serenity; and for about a quarter of a mile along its margin extended one of the most beautiful promenades I ever beheld.

The first part of it is planted with small young trees, on each side of a good road, which extends between verdant plains where _glacis_ are thrown up. This leads to the great walk; a thick grove of magnificent trees, shading a very wide alley of turf of _English_ richness. Here and there are placed seats, and all is kept with the greatest neatness. The establishment of the baths is ornamental, and pretty, and very extensive. About half way up this promenade, next the sea, grounds laid out with taste, and affording shade and pastime in their compartments, surround the building. A Chinese paG.o.da, a Grecian temple, numerous arbours and seats are there for strollers; and swings and see-saws for the exercise of youthful bathers after their dips. Altogether, it is the most charming place of the kind I ever saw: the warm baths are as good as possible, and the arrangement of those in the sea are much better than at Dieppe, Havre, or Granville. There is a row of little pavilions on the edge of the sea, where bathers undress; and a paved way leads them to an enclosed s.p.a.ce where are numerous poles fixed, with ropes reaching from one to the other at different depths. The bathers hold by these ropes: and a large company can thus a.s.semble in the water together, and take as much of the sea as they please, unaccompanied by guides; but, if they are timid, there are _men_ ready to attend and protect them. The costume is a tunic and trowsers of cloth or stuff, with a large handkerchief over the head. Hour after hour will the adventurous bathers continue in the water; dancing, singing, and talking, while the advancing waters dash, splash, and foam all round them, exciting peals of laughter and screams of delight.

Separated by a high part.i.tion, and at a little distance, overlooked, however, by the strollers in the gardens above, is the gentlemen's compartment. These bathers usually run along a high platform, considerably raised, and leap into the sea beneath them; diving down, and re-appearing, much to the amus.e.m.e.nt of each other; while a guide sits on a floating platform near, ready to lend a.s.sistance, or give instruction in natation, if required.

The season, we understood, had been particularly brilliant this year, and was scarcely yet over; though the ball-room and reading-rooms were less crowded than a few weeks before, when we were told that all that was gay and splendid in France _et l'Etranger_ was to be seen beneath the striped canopies of the sea-baths of La Roch.e.l.le. Certainly a more enjoyable place cannot be found anywhere; and I was not surprised that anything so rare and really comfortable and agreeable should meet with success. With any of the brilliant _toilettes_ which were described to me I did not, however, meet; as all the bathers I saw were in cloaks and slouch bonnets, and the company we met appeared by no means distinguished; peasants forming a great proportion. However, the season was nearly over, and one could not expect to see the _elegans_ so late; but I have always observed that the accounts I have heard of the brilliancy of French fas.h.i.+onable meetings are by no means borne out by the reality. At Neris, at the Monts Dores, and other places, I have been equally disappointed on seeing the manner of French living at watering-places; but it always appears to me that, except in Paris, there is no attempt at out-of-door style or gaiety anywhere. A solitary equipage, filled with children, met us every day in our walks, and a hired barouche, for the use of the baths, toiled backwards and forwards, hour after hour; but, except these, we saw no carriages at all, and the walkers were princ.i.p.ally tradespeople in smart caps and shawls. One morning, indeed, we were surprised by the sound of musical strains and the appearance of an officer or two on horseback, followed by a regiment, on their way to exercise; every man of one company was singing at the top of his voice, joined by the officer who marched in front, and who kept beating time, a very merry song and chorus, which we stopped to listen to, _only a moment_, as the words were not quite so much to be admired as the air. This seemed to us a strange, and not very decorous scene, and was so little in accordance with our ideas of propriety or good taste that we turned away in disgust. However, since it is the custom for officers and men in France to sit together in _cafes_, playing at dominos, drinking wine and beer, and putting no restraint upon their conversation, or acknowledging any superiority, there was nothing extraordinary in the familiarity I had witnessed. How this sort of a.s.sociation can be relished by officers of gentle breeding I cannot conceive; and many of them must be so, though a great part are men who, having risen from the ranks, have not been accustomed to more refined companions.h.i.+p. If it be true that

"Strict restraint, once broken, ever balks Conquest and fame,"

and that it is dangerous for those under command to

"----Swerve From law, however stern, which tends their strength to nerve,"

it is difficult to comprehend how the French army is regulated.

The next company which followed the vocal party, came hurrying along, helter-skelter, as if no drilling had ever been thought necessary in their military education; but, while we were remarking the "admired disorder" of their march, we heard their commanding officer's voice loud in reprobation; we could scarcely help comparing the whole scene to that which a militia regiment might present in some country town in England: "What are you all about?" cried the commander; "Eh, mon Dieu! One would say it was a flock of sheep instead of a party of soldiers!" This admonition brought them into some order, and they advanced a little less irregularly, but still in as slovenly a manner as could well be conceived. If the French were not known to be good soldiers, one would think this laxity of discipline little likely to make them so; but they are, like French servants, good enough in their way, though careless in the extreme, and too tenacious to be spoken to.

La Roch.e.l.le is a more remarkable town, from the characteristic features it exhibits, than any we had met with since we set out on our tour.

Although there is a great deal new in the streets and outskirts, yet much that originally existed remains. For instance, almost the whole centre of the town is built in the same manner: namely, in arcades.

These arcades project from the ground-floors, are more or less high and broad, and more or less well paved; but they run along uninterruptedly, forming a shelter from sun or rain, as it may happen, and extending along the whole length of the streets on each side. They are generally of stone, with heavy pillars and circular arches, quite without grace or beauty, but peculiar, and giving an Oriental character to the place. In some streets arcades, higher and wider, have been newly erected, which are tolerably ornamental; but the more antique they are, the lower, narrower, and closer. The Roch.e.l.lois are very proud of their arcades, boasting that they are, by their means, never kept prisoners or annoyed by either rain or sun; they forget that these heavy conveniences completely exclude the light in winter from the lower part of their houses, and, confining the air, must make the town damp and unwholesome.

When we first walked along beneath these awnings we found it extremely difficult to distinguish one street from another, and were continually losing ourselves, as they branch off in all directions, with no change of aspect to distinguish them:

"Each alley has a brother, And half the _covered way_ reflects the other,"

but we got used to them by degrees. There is a sort of _Palais Royal_ effect in the pretty shops under the neatest piazzas; and from the beautiful wooded square, the Place d'Armes, the range which forms one side looks remarkably well. This Place is peculiarly fine and agreeable; it was formed on the sites of the ancient chateau, demolished in 1590, of the chapel of St. Anne and its cemetery, of the grand Protestant temple, and the old Hotel des Monnaies; it, therefore, occupies a large s.p.a.ce, and is planted on two sides with fine trees, called the _Bois d' Amourettes_, and closed on the fourth by the cathedral; part of the ramparts of the town, open towards the sea, are behind, and thus a good air is introduced into the square. On moon-light nights it is a charming promenade; for the effects of the sky here are admirable: a range of handsome _cafes_ extends along one part, whose lights, gleaming between the trees, have a lively appearance, and the groups of lounging citizens seated under the shades give a life to the scene which the rest of the town does not possess. La Roch.e.l.le is, however, infinitely less dull than the generality of French towns; and the quays and s.h.i.+pping, and the constantly-changing sea, prevent it from wearing the sad aspect which distinguishes France in her country places.

Notwithstanding all that travellers are in the habit of saying about the liveliness of France, I never can cease to think that it is a dull country; for, except Paris in its season, there is no movement, no activity, no bustle, in its towns, save, now and then, the confusion of market-days. Why England is considered _triste_, either in town or country, I cannot imagine: the brilliancy of its shops alone, compared to the little dark, dingy cells always met with abroad, even in the most fas.h.i.+onable quarters, might rescue our much-maligned country from the reproach which does not belong to it.

The cathedral of La Roch.e.l.le is a modern building; still unfinished, and possessing no interest: it is very vast, for it stands where once stood the antique church--older than the town itself--of Notre Dame de Cougnes. Here and there, outside, a projecting b.u.t.tress and part of an arch, built up, betrays its venerable origin; but, besides this, nothing remains of the original foundation.

At the back of the cathedral we remarked, as we pa.s.sed through the street, a very large building, with a great many windows, above the portal of which were inscribed the words, _Hopital M. Auffredy_. We were puzzled to make out what this could mean, as the hospital was so large and important that it scarcely would appear to be the inst.i.tution of a private person. Our inquiries gained us no information, and we continued to pa.s.s and repa.s.s still wondering who this _Monsieur Auffredy_ could be whose name was so conspicuous. When, at length, I found how much interest attached to this place I reproached myself that I should have gone near it without reverence, or have carelessly named its inst.i.tutor; whose romantic story is as follows, as near as I have been able to gather it:

STORY OF ALEXANDER AUFFReDY.

At the time when the beautiful and wealthy, the admired and accomplished, heiress of Aquitaine, presided over her courts of Love, now in one city of her extensive dominions, now in another, delighting and astonis.h.i.+ng the whole troubadour world with her liberality, her taste, her learning, grace, and gaiety, lived, in the city of La Roch.e.l.le, a rich merchant, named Alexander Auffredy, young, handsome, esteemed and envied. His generosity and wealth, added to his personal attractions, made him an object of observation and remark, and it was not long before his name reached the ears of Queen Elionore, who, always desirous to surround herself with all that was gay, brilliant, and distinguished, sent an invitation, or rather a command, to the young merchant to appear at her Court at Poitiers.

Auffredy went; and but a short time elapsed before he became the favourite of that brilliant circle where beauty and genius reigned triumphant; for it was discovered that his talent for music was of the highest order; his voice, in singing, of rare perfection; his verses full of grace and fire, his manners equal to those of the most finished courtier; and his judgment in the weighty decisions of the courts of Love, sound and good. Even the poets and musicians, who saw him distinguished for the time above themselves, felt little envy towards him, since they shared his profuse liberality, and were encouraged by his generous admiration, loudly expressed. He was pa.s.sionately attached to literature, and had so correct a taste that whatever he admired was the best in its kind, and his criticisms were so judicious that not a doubt could remain on the minds of any who listened to his opinion; yet he was never harsh, and, wherever it was possible, showed indulgence; it was only to the presuming and superficial that he was severe; and amongst that cla.s.s he was by no means beloved; for, after his expressed contempt and censure had laid open to view the faults of many compositions, whose false glare had attracted praise, their authors sunk at once into the obscurity which they deserved.

His chief friends were Bernard de Ventadour, whose lays, mysteriously addressed to _Bel Viser_ and _Conort_, had gained him so much fame; Rudel, the enthusiast, who devoted his life to an imaginary pa.s.sion; Adhemar and Rambaud d'Aurenge, whose songs were some of the sweetest of their time; and Pierre Rogiers, who sighed his soul away for "Tort n'avetz;" and, amongst them all, his poems were held in the greatest esteem. The beautiful and coquettish mistress of the revels was not insensible to his qualities, and was anxious to appropriate him to herself; greedy of praise, and ever desirous of admiration, she used every art to enthral him, and to render the pa.s.sion real, which it was the fas.h.i.+on at her Court to feign, towards herself; but, though flattered and delighted at the preference shown him by her whom all were trying to please, it was not towards the Queen that Auffredy turned the aspirations of his soul. There was at Court a young and beautiful girl, the orphan of a knight who had fallen in the holy wars, and who was under the guardians.h.i.+p of her uncle, the Baron de Montlucon; she was as amiable in disposition as lovely in person. Auffredy soon found that his liberty was gone while he gazed upon her, but his modesty prevented his attempting to declare his pa.s.sion, though in his lays he took occasion to express all the feelings he experienced, and he saw with delight, not only that the charming Beatrix listened with pleased attention when he sung, but was even moved to tears when he uttered the lamentations of an unhappy lover.

Upon one occasion he sang a lay which Queen Elionore imagined was inspired by herself; but which, in reality, he intended should convey to Beatrix his timid pa.s.sion; it was as follows--in the style of the Eastern poets, then so much imitated and admired:--

LAY.

"I only beg a smile from thee For all this world of tenderness; I let no eye my weakness see, To none my hopes or fears express; I never speak thy praises now, My tongue is mute, and cold my brow.

"Even like that fabled bird am I Who loves the radiant orb of night, Sings on in hopeless melody And feeds upon her beams of light; But never does the planet deign To pity his unceasing pain."

As he sung he would observe the eyes of Beatrix fixed on him with a tender expression; but their meaning was still obscure; for her thoughts appeared pre-occupied, and it might be more the sentiment than the author which attracted her.

Just at this time he was suddenly astounded by the information, that the uncle of her he loved had announced his intention of marrying her to a man of n.o.ble lineage and great wealth, and Auffredy woke from his dream of happiness at once. His strains were now all gloom and sadness, and Elionore heard, with something like astonishment, the melancholy and despairing lays, to which alone he tuned the harp that all delighted to hear. Beatrix, too, whose wishes had not been consulted on a subject so important to herself, appeared quite changed from the tune the tidings first reached her; and her pale cheek and starting tears proved too plainly her aversion to the proposed union. Still did she linger near when Auffredy sung; and when, in a pa.s.sion of sorrow, he poured forth the lay here given, Beatrix betrayed an emotion for which he feared to account.

LAY.

"Like that fair tree whose tender boughs Wave in the suns.h.i.+ne green and bright, Nor bird nor insect e'er allows To seek its shelter morn or night, My heart was young, and fresh, and free, And near it came nor care nor pain; But now, like that same tender tree, When once rude hands its fruit profane, Ill-omen'd birds and shapes of ill Troop to its branches, crowding still,-- And sorrows never known till now Have cast their shadows on my brow: A ruin is my heart become Where brooding sadness finds a home; See--those bright leaves fall, one by one, And I--my latest hopes are gone!"

This was the last time he had ever an opportunity of pouring forth his feelings in the presence of Beatrix; for she disappeared suddenly from Court, and, to the amazement of all, it was announced by her uncle, that her vocation for a religious life had been so decidedly manifested, that he had yielded to her entreaties, and permitted her to enter a convent.

This news made a strange impression on the mind of Auffredy,--could it be possible, after all, that she loved him? yet, he argued, even if it were so, it was evident that her pride of birth had overcome her preference, and she had sacrificed the feelings of her heart rather than descend to be the bride of a merchant, who, though wealthy beyond all the n.o.bles of the land, was yet no match for one born in her exalted rank. From that time the troubadour sang no more; and as the Queen found he had no longer incense to lay on her shrine, her preference for him waned away, and he found that the permission he asked, to absent himself from her Court was not withheld. "Poor Auffredy," said Elionore, somewhat contemptuously, as he departed; "he has seen a wolf and has lost the use of speech; let him go, we have many a young poet who can well replace him."

The admired favourite of a capricious beauty accordingly returned to La Roch.e.l.le, changed in heart and depressed in spirits. "And this, then,"

he mused, "is the reward which the world offers to genius, taste, truth, and feeling! and this is all the value set on qualities which excite admiration, enthusiasm, rapture!--a brief season suffices to weary the most zealous and devoted--a few months, and that which was deemed wit and talent, and wisdom and grace, is looked upon as flat, tame, and unworthy attention. As long as vanity is pleased, and novelty excites new ideas, the poet is welcomed and followed; but, let sadness or sorrow overtake him, of all his admirers not one friend remains! How childish is the thirst for such trivial fame as that a poet gains! It is like the pursuit of the gossamer, which the least breath sweeps away. I will sing no more. I will forget the brilliant scenes that have bewildered me too long; but to what do I now return? Alas! I have no longer a relish for that which interested me before--to what end do I seek to gain wealth? for whom should I h.o.a.rd treasure? I shall in future take no interest in my successes; all appears a blank to me, and my existence a cold, monotonous state of being. These heaps of gold that fill my coffers are worthless in my eyes; these crowding sails that return to harbour, bringing me ceaseless wealth, are fraught only with care. Why was I born rich, since I must live alone and unblest!"

Still he could not help, in spite of his professions of indifference, being flattered by the manner in which his return to his native town was celebrated. The bells of the churches sounded to welcome him, the young girls of the villages round, came out, in their holiday costumes, to greet him on his way, they strewed flowers in his path and sang verses in his praise: the people of La Roch.e.l.le even went so far as to offer prayers at the shrine of the Virgin, to thank Heaven for restoring to them so honoured and beloved a citizen. Full of grat.i.tude for all this kindness and affection, Auffredy bestowed liberal presents upon all: he presented dowers to several of the young maidens who were foremost in doing him honour: he gave large sums to the town, to be laid out in charities and in erecting new buildings, and he sent donations to the churches and convents. His mind was calmed, and his heart touched when he saw in what esteem he was held. "It is something yet," said he, "to gain the good-will of one's fellow-men, and to witness their attachment.

Wealth is certainly a blessing, since it enables one to show grat.i.tude."

About this period great preparations were being made for an expedition to the Holy Land, which was to be led by young Prince Henry, the heir of Aquitaine, Normandy, and England; and all the lords and knights of the three countries vied with each other in splendid equipments. They borrowed money in all directions, and, amongst those who were capable of lending, it was not likely that the rich merchant of La Roch.e.l.le would be forgotten. On the contrary, from numerous quarters came applications for a.s.sistance; even Queen Elionore condescended to request that he would contribute to the splendour of those who should accompany her son, and the generous and ever ready hand of Auffredy was employed from morning till night, in lending and giving to those whose means did not keep pace with their desires. Still, therefore, did he repeat to himself that wealth had its advantages, as he cheerfully dispensed his benefits on all sides. At length he was fairly obliged to desist, for his liberality had brought him to the end of his stores, and he could not but smile, as he remarked to a friend that, if he did not expect in a few weeks the return of all his vessels which were trading in the East, and regularly brought back increased wealth at every voyage, he should be a poor man. "I have nothing left now," said he, "but my plate and jewels, and the furniture of my house; and, should my fleet delay, I will sell all rather than a single knight should be kept from joining the glorious expedition."

As if he had foreseen the event, it so happened: although there were no storms to prevent it, the return of the expected vessels was indeed delayed, and, fresh and pressing applications pouring in upon him, Auffredy found himself actually under the necessity of disposing of his personal possessions, in order to advance the ready-money required.

He was now in a novel position, without money altogether, and he had sold all he possessed of land and houses. "It matters not," said he to the friend at whose house he was staying, at his earnest and affectionate entreaty; "in a day or two I shall have more than I ever yet could call my own; for my last advices, brought by a pilgrim from the country of Manchou Khan, tell me, that all my ventures have been successful, and that this time my faithful agent, Herbert de Burgh, has excelled himself in ability."

"And even should it not be so," said his friend, "think you that the grateful town of La Roch.e.l.le would not be proud to support for years, nay, for ever, if need were, the benefactor to whom every citizen is more or less indebted?"

"I doubt it not," returned the merchant, "and it would be even a gratification to me to be reduced to poverty, which such generous friends would relieve."

But a great and most unexpected change was about to take place in the fortunes of Auffredy: a change which neither he nor his friends had ever contemplated, and which put quite a different face upon everything. The fleet from the East did not arrive. Day after day, week after week, month after month, the first, the second, year had pa.s.sed, and the chain at the harbour of La Roch.e.l.le was not loosened to give pa.s.sage to his vessels. Hope had slowly faded, expectation declined, and, at length, expired,--and the powerful, wealthy, and beloved Auffredy was a beggar.

Where was he at the expiration of the second year? What friend's mansion did he still honour with his presence, and which of his admirers was made happy by seeing him partake of his hospitality? Who, of all those he had rescued from poverty, danger, and affliction, was so blest as to show how strong the tide of grat.i.tude swelled in their hearts? Auffredy was heard of no more! His native town had forgotten his name: to speak of him was interdicted; he was a reproach to La Roch.e.l.le, a disgrace to the city whom his misfortune left without a merchant able to a.s.sist monarchs and fit out armies. Every individual felt injured, every one resented his affront. Not a door but was closed against the bankrupt spendthrift--the deceiver who spoke of wealth which was but a vision, who encouraged hopes which had no foundation. Vessel after vessel arrived from different quarters, but none had met with Herbert de Burgh or his charge; it was doubtful if he had ever even sailed: it was possible, nay probable, indeed it soon was received as a certainty, that the fleet which was talked of had no existence but in the crazed imagination of a profuse dreamer, who fancied argosies and made the world believe he possessed them. It was enough that the drama was ended, and no one cared now, after so long a time, to ask what was become of the princ.i.p.al actor.

One bright summer morning, when the sun shone with dazzling l.u.s.tre on the dancing waves outside the harbour of La Roch.e.l.le, and, inside, the water was as calm as gla.s.s, a little fis.h.i.+ng-boat came gliding along, her red sail gleaming in the light. She was guided by a single sailor--a young man whose remarkably handsome face and figure was little set off by his rough habiliments, which were of the meanest kind; indeed, his boat and all belonging to it indicated little wealth, and seemed to have seen, like himself, much service; but there was a cheerful sparkle in his speaking eye which spoke of content and happiness; and, as he leaped on sh.o.r.e and prepared to unload his little cargo of fish, his animated manner and quick and ready movements showed that, if he were poor, he gained enough by his industry to support himself, and cared for nothing but the present moment, without concerning himself for the future. He had arrived but a few minutes when a slight woman, wrapped in a long black cloak, with the peaked hood tightly drawn over her head and quite concealing her face, emerged from a neighbouring street, and, bounding forward, stood by the side of the young man, who, with a joyful exclamation, caught her in his arms, and embraced her tenderly. Together they collected the fish, which filled his boat, into baskets, and placed them on the edge of the path where frequenters of the markets must pa.s.s, and before long their little stock was sold, and they were in possession of a small sum of money, which the young fisherman put into his purse with an air of satisfaction, as, fastening his boat to the sh.o.r.e, and gathering up his baskets, he gave his arm to the girl, who apparently was his wife, and they left the quay. Just as they were entering the small narrow Rue de la Vache, they observed, standing under an archway, a man, of ragged and miserable appearance, who, approaching, offered to be the bearer of their baskets to their home; he spoke in a low, hollow voice, and said, "Employ me: it will be a charity; I have not tasted bread these two days." Although the young couple, linked arm in arm, close together, and looking in each other's eyes, were talking in gay, cheerful accents, and, apparently, exclusively occupied with each other, yet there was something so sad, so desolate, in the tone of the poor man's voice who addressed them, that they both stopped and turned towards him. "Good friend," said the young man, "you seem in great straits; the blessed Virgin knows I am little able to help you; but take the baskets my wife is carrying, though you look but ill able to bear them. We live hard by, and we have a morsel of bread to give you, if you will." The man made no reply, but took the burthen from the young woman and followed the merry pair, who resumed their talk and their cheerful laugh as they went on. "I need not go out again for at least three days," said the husband, "since this venture has been so lucky; you see how well we can live, and how happy one can be, after all, on nothing."

"Yes," answered the wife; "but, at least, while the weather is so fine, I see no reason why I should be left at home. I could be so useful in the boat, and it would make me so happy. I know when it blows hard, it is useless to ask you, but now"--"Well, you shall go, dearest, next time, if this lasts," was the answer; "what a good sailor you will make, as well as a housekeeper!" They both laughed, and at this moment they reached the door of a very humble dwelling, with only just furniture enough to prevent its being called empty; but they stepped into it, and, the porter placing the baskets on the floor, they sat down and invited him to do the same, while they shared with him a cake and some water, which was already placed on a table.

The poor man, after eating a morsel, appeared suddenly faint, and, uttering a deep sigh, fell on the ground motionless: they raised him up, and, with the utmost kindness, endeavoured to restore him: his worn and haggard countenance told of long and hard suffering; his white hair, that hung in matted locks on his shoulders, seemed blanched by misery, not age; for he appeared a young man, and his emaciated hands were white and more delicate than is usual in his station. After some time he recovered a little, and, thanking them for their help, attempted to rise and leave the house; but both, moved with compa.s.sion, insisted on his lying down on their only bed and taking some repose. "You are ill," said the husband, "and have been too long without food--rest quiet--we will get you some more suitable nourishment, and when you are better, we will hear of your leaving us."

From that day the sick man remained a guest with these poor people, till, his illness increasing, he begged they would procure him admittance into some hospital, if possible, that he might cease to be a burthen on their benevolence: finding their means running very short, owing to the uncertain success of the fisherman's trade, they consented to attempt getting him admitted to the hospital established by the monks of St. Julien, who kindly received the unfortunate man: but, not content with doing this, it was agreed between the young couple that, during the husband's absence, the wife should be his nurse, and attend to him while in the asylum which was afforded him. For several weeks he lay, apparently, at the point of death; but after that time began to recover, and, though weak and emaciated, appeared to have escaped danger. As soon as he was sufficiently recovered to attempt it, he resumed the occupation of porter on the quay, which his sickness had interrupted, and, as he grew daily in strength and health, he was able to gain a little, which he insisted on adding to the small stock of the charitable persons who had saved his life by their kindness. Sometimes he accompanied the husband on his expeditions, and was serviceable to him in his perilous ventures, for his nautical knowledge seemed great, and his skill and readiness made themselves apparent. Though full of grat.i.tude in all his actions, he never expressed in words the feelings their conduct naturally inspired: he was silent and thoughtful, and seemed labouring under some overwhelming grief which no consolations could soften: he never spoke of any person in the town, nor seemed to know anything belonging to it, by which they judged he was a stranger; but, as he evidently did not desire to be communicative, they never urged him with questions, nor required to be informed of his former life. It sufficed to them that he was unfortunate, and that they had ameliorated his condition, and all three lived together, happy and content, without knowing any circ.u.mstances of each other's previous condition.

Several months pa.s.sed in this manner, winters and summers fled away, and the returning seasons found them still poor, still labouring, and still content. The porter improved, not only in strength, but in spirits; for he felt that he was able to be of service to those who had befriended him, and the gloom which chained his tongue and clouded his brow, wore, in a great degree, away. They had no friends in the town, nor sought for acquaintances; the young woman always concealed her face when she went out, which she never did, but to meet her husband, or to buy necessaries for their simple household. His boat had been replaced by one larger and more commodious, and his gains were greater; by degrees their circ.u.mstances improved, and, as they sat by their fireside, they were accustomed to say that they were rich enough, and desired nothing more.

Although the fisherman and his now constant companion had been out in all weathers, they had never yet encountered any dangerous storms, and the wife was now quite tranquil, from the constant habit of seeing them return safely, and complaining little. One day, in early spring, they had set out with a clear sky and fair wind, and had had one of the most fortunate voyages of any they had yet made on the Breton coast, when, just as they were within sight of the Point de Ray, which raises its bare and jagged head three hundred feet above the noisy waves which brawl at its base, an ominous cloud suddenly overspread the heavens, and the symptoms of a coming storm were but too apparent. With silent awe the solitary mariners beheld, sailing heavily along the darkening sky, two birds, of sable plumage, whose flight seemed directed towards the fatal Baie des Trepa.s.ses, so often the grave of the adventurous seaman.