Mathieu Ropars: et cetera Part 1

Mathieu Ropars: et cetera.

by William Young.

I.

At the extremity of the roadstead of Brest, in the open s.p.a.ce that lies stretched out between the Ile Longue and Point Kelerne, may be seen two rocks crowned with ma.s.sive granite buildings, and standing boldly up. On the former, the lazaretto of Treberon has been established; the latter, which in other days was used as a burial-ground and thence took its name of the Ile des Morts, now contains the princ.i.p.al powder-magazine of the naval a.r.s.enal. The two rocks separated by an arm of the sea, are about six miles distant from Brest. In appearance these little islands are not unlike. Beyond the ground occupied by the buildings upon them, they offer nothing to the eye save a succession of stony slopes, dotted here and there with coa.r.s.e moss and p.r.i.c.kly thorn-broom. Vainly there might you look for any other shelter than that afforded by the fissures of the rocks, for any other shade than that of the walls, for any other walk than the short terrace contrived in front of the buildings. Naked and sterile, the two isles remind you of a couple of immense sentry-boxes in stone, placed there for the purpose of keeping guard over the sea, which is roaring beneath them. But if the foot that treads them remains imprisoned within a narrow circle, the view from their summit extends over an infinite s.p.a.ce. Here, you have the bay of Lanvoc, bordered by a dull-looking and stunted vegetation; there, Roscanvel with its shadows crossed by the graceful spire of its church; there, Spanish Point bristling with batteries; and lastly, close upon the horizon lies Brest, with its dock-yards, its forts, and the hundred masts of its s.h.i.+ps, visible through a veil of mist. Midway opens out the Goulet, the harbour of this marvellous lake, through which arrive and depart unceasingly those wandering sails, that issue forth to flaunt the ensign of France upon the waters, or to bring it home again from far-away lands.

A cannon-shot, the echo of which was still booming along the sh.o.r.es, had just announced one of these arrivals, and a frigate, with a light breeze, was doubling the Point under a cloud of canvas. From the esplanade of Treberon a man, wrapped in a pilot-cloth cape and wearing a narrow-brimmed glazed hat, under which it might be seen that his locks were turning grey, was looking at the n.o.ble vessel as she glided along in the distance, between the azure of the sea and of the sky. It was obvious that the keeper of the lazaretto (for he it was) gave but casual attention to the sight, with which his long residence at Treberon had familiarized him. His look, for a moment resting carelessly upon the frigate which had begun to brail up her upper sails, soon reverted to his more immediate neighbourhood, and settled itself at the foot of the pathway, that led from the esplanade to the sea, upon a group which appeared more decidedly to interest him. And in truth the object of this rivetted gaze was of that sort which might have attracted the least attentive eye. A pupil of Phidias would have traced in it the germ of one of those antique bas-reliefs, of which the marble has become more precious than gold.

Two little girls and a goat were coming up the winding path together.

The elder of the two, who might be eleven years old, was holding the freakish animal by one of those long pieces of sea-weed that resemble strips of Spanish leather. Her black hair fell down upon a neck embrowned like a raven's wing, and threw something of a wild hardihood into her expression, tempered however by the velvety softness of her eye. The younger, seated on the goat as though it were her customary place, was of such rosy-white complexion as you see in the flower of the eglantine. A tuft of broom, mingling with her golden hair, fell down upon her shoulder, and gave her an indescribably coquettish grace. The two sisters compelled the goat, which submitted most unwillingly, to moderate its pace; but still, as they proceeded, they were obliged to double the slender reins by which they kept it within bounds, and anon to catch hold of the wreath of sea-flowers twisted about its horns.

Then what joyous shouts and peals of laughter were there without end, broken in upon by the gentle bleatings of _Brunette_ as she pawed the ground with her foot, and shook her saucy little head! Any other hands but those of Josephe and Francine would have tried in vain to make her even so far submissive; but for the latter the goat had been a foster-mother, a circ.u.mstance evidently not forgotten.

Mathieu Ropars had been watching for some time this pleasant little contest between the fantastic _Brunette_ and his daughters, when he felt a hand laid upon his arm; he turned round and encountered, so to say, close against his shoulder the bronzed and smiling face of their mother.

--"Just look at those children," said he, nodding his head in the direction of the merry group.

--"Heavens! Francine will fall," exclaimed the mother, stepping towards the path. He drew her back.

--"Let them be," said he; "don't you know that there is nothing to fear when Josephe has her eye upon them? Besides, _Brunette_ loves them better than her own kids; nor are they behind-hand in returning it.

Heaven forgive me, if that creature isn't what they think most of--after us!"

--"And after Monsieur Gabriel," chimed in their mother--"at least so far as Josephe is concerned; for although he scarcely stayed more than a week in the lazaretto, and that's three years ago, the child never lets a day pa.s.s by without speaking of him."

--"To tell the truth, the Lieutenant is a sort of man not easily to be forgotten," replied Ropars, "especially by the little one yonder, to whom he was so kind and made so many promises. Why, wasn't he to bring her all manner of wonderful things from the East? And by the bye, if nothing has happened to him, I believe that we shall pretty soon see him again, as well as the _Thetis_."

--"In the meantime I must tell the children of another visit, which will also be no small treat for them."

--"Whose?"

--"Cousin's, and little Michael's."

--"Dorot's coming?" inquired Mathieu, looking towards the platform of the Ile des Morts. "How do you know?"

--"Can't we talk by signal just as well as his Majesty's s.h.i.+ps?" said Genevieve laughing. "Look, he has hung out of his window three small red handkerchiefs; that's to tell us that he's coming over. Besides, I saw Michael going down to the Superintendent's."

--"Bravo!" cried Ropars, his face lighting up; "your cousin and the boy must sup with us--that is to say, if your pantry is not quite so empty as your hospital."

Genevieve protested, and then enumerated with an air of complacency all her culinary resources, which had fortunately been replenished, two days before, by the Superintendent, who supplied at the same time the powder-magazine and the lazaretto. Mathieu promised to complete the feast by broaching for the artillery-man an old bottle of Rousillon wine, stowed away for a long time under the sand of his cellar.

The two little girls at this moment came up on to the terrace.

--"Quick, here!" cried Genevieve, "quick; there's somebody coming."

--"Monsieur Gabriel?" asked Josephe, springing forward with this exclamation.

--"No, no, goose-cap--cousin Dorot and little Michael."

An involuntary gesture of disappointment escaped from the child; but Francine clapped her hands and broke out into shouts of joy. The goat, left to herself, bounded along the precipitous slopes of the rocks, where she set to work browsing on the tufts of brackish herbage; the sisters took each other's hand to go down towards the little landing-place; whilst their mother went into the house with a view of getting everything in readiness.

As had been remarked by the last-named, the special affection of Josephe for Monsieur Gabriel was already of several years standing. It dated from a quarantine performed at Treberon by the Lieutenant, who, charmed by her grace, bordering though it was upon the savage, had exhibited towards her a marked regard, to which the child had responded with what amounted almost to a pa.s.sion. Having entered the navy against his inclination, Monsieur Gabriel had adopted little of it but its uniform.

In the midst of a life of change, hards.h.i.+p, and adventure, he dreamed unceasingly of the unchangeableness of the domestic hearth, and of peaceful family enjoyments. He was one of those lovers of solitude, who are born to live amongst labourers, and women, and children. Confined to the lazaretto of Treberon, he had brought thither a few favourite books, and his violin, on which he played for hours at a time, with no other end than the listening to its melodious vibrations. When he went out, Josephe ran to meet him, acted as his guide along the rocks, and escorted him to their most secluded recesses, in which, day by day, he discovered some unknown plant, or moss that was new to him. In the evening, be paid a visit to the old quarter-master whose quiet enjoyment of life had attracted his notice. Genevieve talked to him of her children; Josephe begged of him a story or a song; and when it was time for him to retire for the night, he went back to his cell, light hearted and with tranquil mind. A fortnight thus slipped away as if it had been an hour; so that when his quarantine was at length performed, and it was necessary for him to leave Treberon, his deliverance did but awaken in him a feeling of regret. He came back several times to pa.s.s whole days upon the lonely islet; and when finally he was embarking for a distant voyage of discovery, he promised the solitary family that he would occasionally write to them. Ropars had in fact received some letters from him; and, as we have seen, was expecting his speedy return. For the moment, the visit announced by Genevieve exclusively occupied the keeper of the lazaretto. He remained alone upon the esplanade, whence he continued to look towards the Ile des Morts. The distance rendered visible everything done there; it was easy to recognize persons and to distinguish their movements. He could therefore see Dorot take his way towards the skiff, set up the mast, and hoist the sail; and the little Michael catching hold, with some difficulty, of the tiller.

Previously to the two families becoming allied by marriage, the keepers of the powder-magazine and of the lazaretto had known each other in the navy, wherein one was a quarter-master and the other a sergeant of artillery. Appointed to Treberon, Mathieu Ropars had rejoiced at the idea of meeting his old s.h.i.+p-mate Dorot, already several years established at the Ile des Morts, with his wife, his son, and a female orphan relative. The lazaretto being almost always deserted, he was left with ample leisure for frequent visits to the powder-magazine, and for becoming well known there and thoroughly appreciated. Genevieve, Dorot's cousin, was particularly taken with such a character, so straight-forward and yet so gentle. She had been tried, until she was sixteen, by all the pains and penalties of misery. Taken then, from charitable motives, into the house of her cousin whose wife occasionally made her pay dearly enough for his hospitality, the poor orphan had accustomed herself to expecting nothing at any one's hands, and to receiving as a favour whatever was accorded her. Thus the frank cordiality of Mathieu was more touching in her eyes than it would have been in those of another. She welcomed it with a grat.i.tude half filial, to which insensibly became added that shade of a more tender feeling, always blended into the attachments of a woman whose heart is disengaged. An intimacy between herself and Ropars went on, strengthening from day to day, whilst neither of them took account of their predilections. As he marked the young girl in the bloom of her expanding beauty, Mathieu, who already felt the weight of years upon him, would never have dreamed of asking her to share his existence; whilst Genevieve, happy in seeing him daily and in the consciousness of his immediate neighbourhood, thought not of desiring anything further.

It needed the offer of a situation for her at Brest, and the consequent prospect of a separation, to enlighten them as to their mutual dependence on each other. Perceiving that Genevieve shed tears, Ropars, who could not shut his eyes to his own distress of mind, took courage and brought matters to a point. He told her that she might dispense with this separation, if the isle of Treberon were no more irksome to her than the Ile des Morts, and if his society were as agreeable to her as that of her cousin. The poor girl, weeping, blus.h.i.+ng and overjoyed, could only reply by letting herself fall into his arms. The old quarter-master forthwith opened his mind to Dorot. The marriage took place; and he carried off Genevieve to his islet, of which henceforth he mistrusted not the solitude.

The difference in their respective ages did not seem to mar the happiness of the keeper and the orphan girl. Both were possessed of that which renders marriage a blessing--the simple mind and the heart of kindly impulse. Children came, to draw still closer these ties, and to enliven their hearth. The younger was just born, when Dorot lost his wife, and was left alone with his son Michael, thirteen years of age.

This premature widowerhood had revived the friends.h.i.+p of the two old s.h.i.+pmates. Their intercourse became more frequent. The skiff that served both establishments was stationed at the little haven of the Ile des Morts, and was thus at the disposition of the artillery-man, who missed no opportunity of coming to pa.s.s a few hours with his neighbours. But notwithstanding their proximity, and the ease with which the pa.s.sage was made, these visits could not be of daily occurrence. Dorot was obliged to be constantly on the watch; his official orders were equally sudden and unforeseen; nor could he expose himself to the risk of too frequent absence. His appearance therefore at the lazaretto had not ceased to be a happy exception to the rule. Father, mother, and children alike found in it a festal occasion; and it was never without great rejoicing that the signal was observed announcing the agreeable visit, and the boat seen putting out from the little landing-place and stretching over towards Treberon.

This time, so soon as Ropars saw her on the way, he went down to meet her. Scarcely had she touched the ground, when Michael jumped ash.o.r.e, threw his arms about the keeper, then about the two little girls, and then ran off with the latter towards the house. Dorot stepping out in turn, shook hands heartily with Mathieu; and the pair, chatting, slowly began the ascent. Having reached the summit of the cliff, they faced about by force of habit, to take a look out to sea. The artillery-man remarked that the frigate had just clewed up her lower sails.

--"G.o.d help us! she's going to anchor," said he; "did you ever see, Mathieu, a homeward-bound s.h.i.+p let go so far from land?"

--"That depends," replied the old quarter-master; "we hold off when we mistrust a fort, or are afraid of reefs."

--"But there's nothing of that sort here," remarked Dorot; "the frigate has no need to fear the guns of the Castle which are her very good friends, or the roadstead which is as safe an anchorage as if she were fast in the dry-dock. There must be something extraordinary."

--"Perhaps the s.h.i.+p has to perform quarantine," suggested Ropars; "the _Thetis_ is expected."

--"That's it; you've named her," cried the artillery-man, winking his eye and shading his forehead with one hand so as to look more fixedly at the distant vessel; "it is the _Thetis_, or I'm a heathen. I had her down yonder for a week, when she took her powder on board; I know her by the set of her masts and by her bearing on the water."

--"The _Thetis_!" echoed Mathieu; "then we shall soon see Monsieur Gabriel. What delight for Josephe! Quick; let's tell her."

He was hurrying off, but Dorot kept him back. "No hurry," said he; "never reckon too surely on what a s.h.i.+p brings home. Pick people out, and they're just those that are missing when the roll's called. Better wait till the Lieutenant brings his own news."

--"You're right," replied the quarter-master; "the more so since the frigate comes, if I don't mistake, from the Havannah."

--"Who knows whether she won't bring you some lodgers for your lazaretto?"

--"So be it; they'll be welcome. With Genevieve and the children, one can't be dull; but once in a while there's no harm in a little company.

You fellows at the Ile des Morts, you have the artillery despatch-carrier, who keeps you up to all that goes on, to say nothing of inspections and your convoys of powder; whilst here--never a thing!

Not one visitor in a twelvemonth! At least, if you have to put people sometimes into quarantine, you hear what's done on land there, and that leaves you some thing to talk about for months."

The artillery-man shrugged his shoulders--"That's all very well, when they don't bring disease with them; but the old coasters still talk of a quarantine in which the lazaretto ran short of both earth and rock for burying the dead, and when the bodies were of necessity thrown into the sea with a shot attached to their necks, as in vessels out on a voyage."

--"Now may Christ spare us such a trial!" exclaimed Ropars, respectfully touching his hat, as he was used to do whenever he p.r.o.nounced the Saviour's name. "But you're speaking of a long time ago, Dorot; please Heaven, we won't see such again. There are no heathen here now; and I believe that G.o.d's good will will take care of us."

Dorot nodded his acquiescence. In fact this confidence, springing from a simple faith, had up to that time been justified by experience. During the thirteen years that the keeper had spent at Treberon, he had only received healthy persons into quarantine, who were complying with a formal regulation, and were obliged to make proof of their good health by undergoing this preventive sequestration. There were indeed rare exceptions. Like all lazarettos, that of Treberon remained generally unoccupied; and the keeper kept watch there alone, like an ever-living sentinel posted in advance of the continent, for the purpose of warding off contagion.

As they chatted, Dorot and he had reached the house. Genevieve was waiting for them at the doorway, surrounded by the three children who laid hold of and talked to her all at once. After an exchange of their accustomed friendly greetings, she went in, with the two keepers, whilst Michael drew off Francine and Josephe towards _Brunette_, who was waiting for them on a pinnacle of rock, eyeing them and bleating at them. The youngster, accustomed to chase his father's sheep upon the declivities of the Ile des Morts, endeavored to get at her; but the capricious creature sprung from point to point along the precipices, letting herself at every moment almost be caught, and at every moment bounding away from the hand that just could touch her.

Whilst the children kept up this chase, with a thousand calls to one another and a thousand peals of laughter, Ropars and Dorot entered the eating-room in which Genevieve was already laying the cloth. It was a room of middling size, furnished by the keeper himself at the period of his marriage, and ornamented with a few marine engravings. Amongst these was particularly distinguished a portrait of Jean Bart, that nautical Hercules on whom, as all the world knows, his traditional celebrity has fastened all manner of superhuman exploits and impossible adventures.

Having made his guest sit down, Mathieu went off to disinter his bottle of Rousillon wine; and brought it back all whitened with the sand, and capped with a green-waxed cork that bespoke its n.o.ble birth-place. Dorot good-temperedly complained of such extravagance, and hinted that he could not make his visit a long one, inasmuch as the officer commanding the post of the Ile des Morts had charged him to bring the skiff back before sunset. Genevieve therefore hurried herself to serve up the dinner, and called the children to take their places at table.

With persons whose entire life was contracted within the narrow limits of two small islands, the conversation could not be much varied. Mathieu talked of his still-lines set between the headlands of Treberon, and Dorot of his small cherry-tree. The latter might be regarded as the one stumbling block of pride, over which the habitual modesty of the worthy sergeant was sure to trip. No other keeper before his time had succeeded in securing what he planted, from the sea wind; this was the only tree that had ever been seen in the two islands; and Lucullus might well have been less proud of the first cherry-tree that he brought from Persia, for the purpose of gracing his triumph. Humble as regards everything else, Dorot drew himself up proudly when there was any question of his poor wild-stock; he only let it be seen by his friends and his superiors, and then at their urgent solicitation. Objects resemble human kind, and very often a.s.sume the importance that is given them, in place of that to which they are ent.i.tled. Thus overcharged and carefully tended, the fame of the cherry-tree of the Ile des Morts went abroad from Plougastel to Camaret; it was everywhere talked of as a prodigy.

The pride of Dorot had increased in a corresponding degree, and was just now swollen to the highest pitch by an event no less extraordinary than unforseen. He brought the news of it to Treberon, but would not make it known too abruptly. All supposable things were first to be run over, as in the famous letter of Madame de Sevigne on the marriage of Mademoiselle. Finally, when every one had given it up, he determined to enlighten them, and announced ... that the cherry-tree was in blossom!