our
landlady and telling him to take the
lobster and the crab to her
house.
"Do you earn enough to live on?" I asked the man, in order to discover
the cause of his
evident penury.
"With great hardships, and always poorly," he replied. "Fishing on the
coast, when one hasn't a boat or deep-sea nets, nothing but pole and
line, is a very
uncertain business. You see we have to wait for the
fish, or the shell-fish;
whereas a real
fisherman puts out to sea for
them. It is so hard to earn a living this way that I'm the only man in
these parts who fishes along-shore. I spend whole days without getting
anything. To catch a crab, it must go to sleep, as this one did, and a
lobster must be silly enough to stay among the rocks. Sometimes after
a high tide the mussels come in and I grab them."
"Well,
taking one day with another, how much do you earn?"
"Oh, eleven or twelve sous. I could do with that if I were alone; but
I have got my old father to keep, and he can't do anything, the good
man, because he's blind."
At these words, said simply, Pauline and I looked at each other
without a word; then I asked,--
"Haven't you a wife, or some good friend?"
He cast upon us one of the most
lamentable glances that I ever saw as
he answered,--
"If I had a wife I must
abandon my father; I could not feed him and a
wife and children too."
"Well, my poor lad, why don't you try to earn more at the salt
marshes, or by carrying the salt to the harbor?"
"Ah,
monsieur, I couldn't do that work three months. I am not strong
enough, and if I died my father would have to beg. I am forced to take
a business which only needs a little knack and a great deal of
patience."
"But how can two persons live on twelve sous a day?"
"Oh,
monsieur, we eat cakes made of
buckwheat, and barnacles which I
get off the rocks."
"How old are you?"
"Thirty-seven."
"Did you ever leave Croisic?"
"I went once to Guerande to draw for the conscription; and I went to
Savenay to the messieurs who
measure for the army. If I had been half
an inch taller they'd have made me a soldier. I should have died of my
first march, and my poor father would to-day be begging his bread."
I had thought out many dramas; Pauline was accustomed to great
emotions beside a man so
suffering as myself; well, never had either
of us listened to words so moving as these. We walked on in silence,
measuring, each of us, the silent depths of that obscure life,
admiring the
nobility of a
devotion which was
ignorant of itself. The
strength of that feebleness amazed us; the man's unconscious
generosity belittled us. I saw that poor being of
instinct chained to
that rock like a galley-slave to his ball; watching through twenty
years for shell-fish to earn a living, and sustained in his
patienceby a single
sentiment. How many hours wasted on a
lonely shore! How
many hopes defeated by a change of weather! He was
hanging there to a
granite rock, his arm
extended like that of an Indian fakir, while his
father, sitting in their hovel, awaited, in silence and darkness, a
meal of the coarsest bread and shell-fish, if the sea permitted.
"Do you ever drink wine?" I asked.
"Three or four times a year," he replied.
"Well, you shall drink it to-day,--you and your father; and we will
send you some white bread."
"You are very kind,
monsieur."
"We will give you your dinner if you will show us the way along the
shore to Batz, where we wish to see the tower which overlooks the bay
between Batz and Croisic."
"With pleasure," he said. "Go straight before you, along the path you
are now on, and I will follow you when I have put away my tackle."
We nodded consent, and he ran off
joyfully toward the town. This
meeting maintained us in our
previousmental condition; but it
lessened our gay lightheartedness.
"Poor man!" said Pauline, with that
accent which removes from the
compassion of a woman all that is mortifying in human pity, "ought we
not to feel
ashamed of our happiness in presence of such misery?"
"Nothing is so
cruellypainful as to have
powerless desires," I
answered. "Those two poor creatures, the father and son, will never