Guy Maupassant - Pierre and Jean

Never till his sons came home had M. Roland invited her to join his fishing expeditions, nor had he ever taken his wife; for he liked to put off before daybreak, with his ally, Captain Beausire, a master mariner retired, whom he had first met on the quay at high tides and with whom he had struck up an intimacy, and the old sailor Papagris, known as Jean Bart, in whose charge the boat was left.

But one evening of the week before, Mme. Rosemilly, who had been dining with them, remarked, “It must be great fun to go out fishing.” The jeweller, flattered by her interest and suddenly fired with the wish to share his favourite sport with her, and to make a convert after the manner of priests, exclaimed: “Would you like to come?”

“To be sure I should.”

“Next Tuesday?”

“Yes, next Tuesday.”

“Are you the woman to be ready to start at five in the morning?”

She exclaimed in horror:

“No, indeed: that is too much.”

He was disappointed and chilled, suddenly doubting her true vocation. However, he said:

“At what hour can you be ready?”

“Well – at nine?”

“Not before?”

“No, not before. Even that is very early.”

The old fellow hesitated; he certainly would catch nothing, for when the sun has warmed the sea the fish bite no more; but the two brothers had eagerly pressed the scheme, and organized and arranged everything there and then.

So on the following Tuesday the Pearl had dropped anchor under the white rocks of Cape la Heve; they had fished till midday, then they had slept awhile, and then fished again without catching anything; and then it was that father Roland, perceiving, rather late, that all that Mme. Rosemilly really enjoyed and cared for was the sail on the sea, and seeing that his lines hung motionless, had uttered in a spirit of unreasonable annoyance, that vehement “Tschah!” which applied as much to the pathetic widow as to the creatures he could not catch.

Now he contemplated the spoil – his fish – with the joyful thrill of a miser; seeing as he looked up at the sky that the sun was getting low: “Well, boys,” said he, “suppose we turn homeward.”

The young men hauled in their lines, coiled them up, cleaned the hooks and stuck them into corks, and sat waiting.

Roland stood up to look out like a captain.

“No wind,” said he. “You will have to pull, young ‘uns.”

And suddenly extending one arm to the northward, he exclaimed:

“Here comes the packet from Southampton.”

Away over the level sea, spread out like a blue sheet, vast and sheeny and shot with flame and gold, an inky cloud was visible against the rosy sky in the quarter to which he pointed, and below it they could make out the hull of the steamer, which looked tiny at such a distance. And to southward other wreaths of smoke, numbers of them, could be seen, all converging towards the Havre pier, now scarcely visible as a white streak with the lighthouse, upright, like a horn, at the end of it.

Roland asked: “Is not the Normandie due to-day?” And Jean replied:

“Yes, to-day.”

“Give me my glass. I fancy I see her out there.”

The father pulled out the copper tube, adjusted it to his eye, sought the speck, and then, delighted to have seen it, exclaimed:

“Yes, yes, there she is. I know her two funnels. Would you like to look, Mme. Rosemilly?”

She took the telescope and directed it towards the Atlantic horizon, without being able, however, to find the vessel, for she could distinguish nothing – nothing but blue, with a coloured halo round it, a circular rainbow – and then all manner of queer things, winking eclipses which made her feel sick.

She said as she returned the glass:

“I never could see with that thing. It used to put my husband in quite a rage; he would stand for hours at the windows watching the ships pass.”

Old Roland, much put out, retorted:

“Then it must be some defect in your eye, for my glass is a very good one.”

Then he offered it to his wife.

“Would you like to look?”

“No, thank you. I know before hand that I could not see through it.”

Mme. Roland, a woman of eight-and-forty but who did not look it, seemed to be enjoying this excursion and this waning day more than any of the party.

Her chestnut hair was only just beginning to show streaks of white. She had a calm, reasonable face, a kind and happy way with her which it was a pleasure to see. Her son Pierre was wont to say that she knew the value of money, but this did not hinder her from enjoying the delights of dreaming. She was fond of reading, of novels, and poetry, not for their value as works of art, but for the sake of the tender melancholy mood they would induce in her. A line of poetry, often but a poor one, often a bad one, would touch the little chord, as she expressed it, and give her the sense of some mysterious desire almost realized. And she delighted in these faint emotions which brought a little flutter to her soul, otherwise as strictly kept as a ledger.

Since settling at Havre she had become perceptibly stouter, and her figure, which had been very supple and slight, had grown heavier.

This day on the sea had been delightful to her. Her husband, without being brutal, was rough with her, as a man who is the despot of his shop is apt to be rough, without anger or hatred; to such men to give an order is to swear. He controlled himself in the presence of strangers, but in private he let loose and gave himself terrible vent, though he was himself afraid of every one. She, in sheer horror of the turmoil, of scenes, of useless explanations, always gave way and never asked for anything; for a very long time she had not ventured to ask Roland to take her out in the boat. So she had joyfully hailed this opportunity, and was keenly enjoying the rare and new pleasure.

From the moment when they started she surrendered herself completely, body and soul, to the soft, gliding motion over the waves. She was not thinking; her mind was not wandering through either memories or hopes; it seemed to her as though her heart, like her body, was floating on something soft and liquid and delicious which rocked and lulled it.

When their father gave the word to return, “Come, take your places at the oars!” she smiled to see her sons, her two great boys, take off their jackets and roll up their shirt-sleeves on their bare arms.

Pierre, who was nearest to the two women, took the stroke oar, Jean the other, and they sat waiting till the skipper should say: “Give way!” For he insisted on everything being done according to strict rule.

Simultaneously, as if by a single effort, they dipped the oars, and lying back, pulling with all their might, began a struggle to display their strength. They had come out easily, under sail, but the breeze had died away, and the masculine pride of the two brothers was suddenly aroused by the prospect of measuring their powers. When they went out alone with their father they plied the oars without any steering, for Roland would be busy getting the lines ready, while he kept a lookout in the boat’s course, guiding it by a sign or a word: “Easy, Jean, and you, Pierre, put your back into it.” Or he would say, “Now, then, number one; come, number two – a little elbow grease.” Then the one who had been dreaming pulled harder, the one who had got excited eased down, and the boat’s head came round.

But to-day they meant to display their biceps. Pierre’s arms were hairy, somewhat lean but sinewy; Jean’s were round and white and rosy, and the knot of muscles moved under the skin.

At first Pierre had the advantage. With his teeth set, his brow knit, his legs rigid, his hands clinched on the oar, he made it bend from end to end at every stroke, and the Pearl was veering landward. Father Roland, sitting in the bows, so as to leave the stern seat to the two women, wasted his breath shouting, “Easy, number one; pull harder, number two!” Pierre pulled harder in his frenzy, and “number two” could not keep time with his wild stroke.