DOI Heft:
No. 70 (January 1899)
DOI Artikel:Charles Cottet's "Au pays de la mer", and other works
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.19230#0267
Charles Cottet
last time, maybe—round this frugal board, a sort on the bosom of the night—motionless they sit,
of suppressed pain, which dare not show itself, lest deep in thought, dreaming of those they have left,
it add to the bitterness of those who are the cause those whom they may never see again—who knows ?
of it all—lest it unman them. All ages are repre- And the boat glides slowly on, through the bluish
sented here, united by ties of family or friendship, haze, over the rippling waters, leaving a phosphores-
The old mother is in the middle; next her, on the cent track behind.
left, the betrothed pair ; on her right the eldest On the right-hand panel we see Those who Re-
son ; then a married daughter with a baby on her main : women, young girls, and little children are
knee ; and then come relations and friends. De- assembled on the cliff, while the waves are beating
spite the differences of age and sex and type, a against the rocks below. Sadly they gaze over the
similarity of expression reveals itself on all these vast horizon, the monotonous roar of the waters
faces—the community of ideas, the sameness of deafening their ears, to catch a glimpse of the dear
language, the hereditary habit of life, with the same sails emerging from the mists out yonder; or,
cares, the same imaginings, the same fancies. How maybe, they have just said "good-bye" after the
familiarly they all sit side by side under the same farewell meal, and have turned out into the dark-
lamplight, in this little bare-walled room ! Through ness to see, as best they may, their loved ones sail
the wide window behind one looks out on the night, off; perhaps just to fix their eyes for one brief
the blue night over the sea. Striking indeed—but moment on the foamy track the boat has left
in no sense melodramatic—the contrast between this behind. This is the vision that fills their heart and
comfortable fireside (for it is good to be here with eyes ; this, if the loved one never return, the
all the familiar objects around one, among one's vision they will ever retain.
own people, sheltered from storms and hardships) Words are weak to express the beauty of work
and the gloomy indifference of the elements out- like this, its poignant emotion, its real grandeur,
side. Based on truth itself, it rises to an extreme degree
In the left-hand panel, Those who Depa?-t have of intensity; and how simple the means employed !
departed indeed. They are sailing in their bark Nothing "romantic," nothing "literary" here;
"RAYONS DU SOIR : PORT DE CAMARET " BY CHARLES COTTET
{In the Luxembourg Museuni)
236
last time, maybe—round this frugal board, a sort on the bosom of the night—motionless they sit,
of suppressed pain, which dare not show itself, lest deep in thought, dreaming of those they have left,
it add to the bitterness of those who are the cause those whom they may never see again—who knows ?
of it all—lest it unman them. All ages are repre- And the boat glides slowly on, through the bluish
sented here, united by ties of family or friendship, haze, over the rippling waters, leaving a phosphores-
The old mother is in the middle; next her, on the cent track behind.
left, the betrothed pair ; on her right the eldest On the right-hand panel we see Those who Re-
son ; then a married daughter with a baby on her main : women, young girls, and little children are
knee ; and then come relations and friends. De- assembled on the cliff, while the waves are beating
spite the differences of age and sex and type, a against the rocks below. Sadly they gaze over the
similarity of expression reveals itself on all these vast horizon, the monotonous roar of the waters
faces—the community of ideas, the sameness of deafening their ears, to catch a glimpse of the dear
language, the hereditary habit of life, with the same sails emerging from the mists out yonder; or,
cares, the same imaginings, the same fancies. How maybe, they have just said "good-bye" after the
familiarly they all sit side by side under the same farewell meal, and have turned out into the dark-
lamplight, in this little bare-walled room ! Through ness to see, as best they may, their loved ones sail
the wide window behind one looks out on the night, off; perhaps just to fix their eyes for one brief
the blue night over the sea. Striking indeed—but moment on the foamy track the boat has left
in no sense melodramatic—the contrast between this behind. This is the vision that fills their heart and
comfortable fireside (for it is good to be here with eyes ; this, if the loved one never return, the
all the familiar objects around one, among one's vision they will ever retain.
own people, sheltered from storms and hardships) Words are weak to express the beauty of work
and the gloomy indifference of the elements out- like this, its poignant emotion, its real grandeur,
side. Based on truth itself, it rises to an extreme degree
In the left-hand panel, Those who Depa?-t have of intensity; and how simple the means employed !
departed indeed. They are sailing in their bark Nothing "romantic," nothing "literary" here;
"RAYONS DU SOIR : PORT DE CAMARET " BY CHARLES COTTET
{In the Luxembourg Museuni)
236