Part 1 (2/2)
Religion, Society, and Nature! these are the three struggles of man.
They const.i.tute at the same time his three needs. He has need of a faith; hence the temple. He must create; hence the city. He must live; hence the plough and the s.h.i.+p. But these three solutions comprise three perpetual conflicts. The mysterious difficulty of life results from all three. Man strives with obstacles under the form of superst.i.tion, under the form of prejudice, and under the form of the elements. A triple [Greek: anagke] weighs upon us. There is the fatality of dogmas, the oppression of human laws, the inexorability of nature. In _Notre Dame de Paris_ the author denounced the first; in the _Miserables_ he exemplified the second; in this book he indicates the third. With these three fatalities mingles that inward fatality--the supreme [Greek: anagke], the human heart.
HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, _March, 1866_.
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK TO THE ROCK OF HOSPITALITY AND LIBERTY TO THAT PORTION OF OLD NORMAN GROUND INHABITED BY THE n.o.bLE LITTLE NATION OF THE SEA TO THE ISLAND OF GUERNSEY SEVERE YET KIND, MY PRESENT ASYLUM PERHAPS MY TOMB
V.H.
TOILERS OF THE SEA
PART I.--SIEUR CLUBIN
BOOK I
THE HISTORY OF A BAD REPUTATION
I
A WORD WRITTEN ON A WHITE PAGE
Christmas Day in the year 182- was somewhat remarkable in the island of Guernsey. Snow fell on that day. In the Channel Islands a frosty winter is uncommon, and a fall of snow is an event.
On that Christmas morning, the road which skirts the seash.o.r.e from St.
Peter's Port to the Vale was clothed in white. From midnight till the break of day the snow had been falling. Towards nine o'clock, a little after the rising of the wintry sun, as it was too early yet for the Church of England folks to go to St. Sampson's, or for the Wesleyans to repair to Eldad Chapel, the road was almost deserted. Throughout that portion of the highway which separates the first from the second tower, only three foot-pa.s.sengers could be seen. These were a child, a man, and a woman. Walking at a distance from each other, these wayfarers had no visible connection. The child, a boy of about eight years old, had stopped, and was looking curiously at the wintry scene. The man walked behind the woman, at a distance of about a hundred paces. Like her he was coming from the direction of the church of St. Sampson. The appearance of the man, who was still young, was something between that of a workman and a sailor. He wore his working-day clothes--a kind of Guernsey s.h.i.+rt of coa.r.s.e brown stuff, and trousers partly concealed by tarpaulin leggings--a costume which seemed to indicate that, notwithstanding the holy day, he was going to no place of wors.h.i.+p. His heavy shoes of rough leather, with their soles covered with large nails, left upon the snow, as he walked, a print more like that of a prison lock than the foot of a man. The woman, on the contrary, was evidently dressed for church. She wore a large mantle of black silk, wadded, under which she had coquettishly adjusted a dress of Irish poplin, trimmed alternately with white and pink; but for her red stockings, she might have been taken for a Parisian. She walked on with a light and free step, so little suggestive of the burden of life that it might easily be seen that she was young. Her movements possessed that subtle grace which indicates the most delicate of all transitions--that soft intermingling, as it were, of two twilights--the pa.s.sage from the condition of a child to that of womanhood. The man seemed to take no heed of her.
Suddenly, near a group of oaks at the corner of a field, and at the spot called the Ba.s.ses Maisons, she turned, and the movement seemed to attract the attention of the man. She stopped, seemed to reflect a moment, then stooped, and the man fancied that he could discern that she was tracing with her finger some letters in the snow. Then she rose again, went on her way at a quicker pace, turned once more, this time smiling, and disappeared to the left of the roadway, by the footpath under the hedges which leads to the Ivy Castle. When she had turned for the second time, the man had recognised her as Deruchette, a charming girl of that neighbourhood.
The man felt no need of quickening his pace; and some minutes later he found himself near the group of oaks. Already he had ceased to think of the vanished Deruchette; and if, at that moment, a porpoise had appeared above the water, or a robin had caught his eye in the hedges, it is probable that he would have pa.s.sed on his way. But it happened that his eyes were fixed upon the ground; his gaze fell mechanically upon the spot where the girl had stopped. Two little footprints were there plainly visible; and beside them he read this word, evidently written by her in the snow--
”GILLIATT.”
It was his own name.
He lingered for awhile motionless, looking at the letters, the little footprints, and the snow; and then walked on, evidently in a thoughtful mood.
II
THE Bu DE LA RUE
Gilliatt lived in the parish of St. Sampson. He was not liked by his neighbours; and there were reasons for that fact.
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