In and Out of Three Normandy Inns | Page 8

the luxurious character of our
dreams.

CHAPTER III.
FROM AN INN WINDOW.
One travels a long distance, sometimes, to make the astonishing
discovery that pleasure comes with the doing of very simple things. We
had come from over the seas to find the act of leaning on a window
casement as exciting as it was satisfying. It is true that from our two inn
windows there was a delightful variety of nature and of human nature
to look out upon. From the windows overlooking the garden there was
only the horizon to bound infinity. The Atlantic, beginning with the
beach at our feet, stopped at nothing till it met the sky. The sea, literally,
was at our door; it and the Seine were next-door neighbors. Each hour
of the day these neighbors presented a different face, were arrayed in
totally different raiment, were grave or gay, glowing with color or
shrouded in mists, according to the mood and temper of the sun, the
winds, and the tides.
[Illustration: ON THE BEACH--VILLERVILLE]
The width of the sky overhanging this space was immense; not a scrap,
apparently, was left over to cover, decently, the rest of the earth's
surface--of that one was quite certain in looking at this vast inverted

cup overflowing with ether. What there was of land was a very sketchy
performance. Opposite ran the red line of the Havre headlands.
Following the river, inland, there was a pretence of shore, just
sufficiently outlined, like a youth's beard, to give substance to one's
belief in its future growth and development. Beneath these windows the
water, hemmed in by this edge of shore, panted, like a child at play; its
sighs, liquid, lisping, were irresistible; one found oneself listening for
the sound of them as if they had issued from a human throat. The
humming of the bees in the garden, the cry of a fisherman calling
across the water, the shout of the children below on the beach, or, at
twilight, the chorusing birds, carolling at full concert pitch; this, at most,
was all the sound and fury the sea beach yielded.
The windows opening on the village street let in a noise as tumultuous
as the sea was silent. The hubbub of a perpetual babble, all the louder
for being compressed within narrow space, was always to be heard; it
ceased only when the village slept. There was an incessant clicking
accompaniment to this noisy street life; a music played from early
dawn to dusk over the pavement's rough cobbles--the click clack, click
clack of the countless wooden sabots.
Part of this clamor in the streets was due to the fact that the village, as a
village, appeared to be doing a tremendous business with the sea.
Men and women were perpetually going to and coming from the beach.
Fishermen, sailors, women bearing nets, oars, masts, and sails, children
bending beneath the weight of baskets filled with kicking fish;
wheelbarrows stocked high with sea-food and warm clothing; all this
commerce with the sea made the life in these streets a more animated
performance than is commonly seen in French villages.
In time, the provincial mania began to work in our veins.
To watch our neighbors, to keep an eye on this life--this became, after a
few days, the chief occupation of our waking hours.
The windows of our rooms fronting on the street were peculiarly well

adapted for this unmannerly occupation. By merely opening the blinds,
we could keep an eye on the entire village. Not a cat could cross the
street without undergoing inspection. Augustine, for example, who,
once having turned her back on the inn windows, believed herself
entirely cut off from observation, was perilously exposed to our mercy.
We knew all the secrets of her thieving habits; we could count, to a
second, the time she stole from the Mere, her employer, to squander in
smiles and dimples at the corner creamery. There a tall Norman rained
admiration upon her through wide blue eyes, as he patted, caressingly,
the pots of blond butter, just the color of her hair, before laying them,
later, tenderly in her open palm. Soon, as our acquaintance with our
neighbors deepened into something like intimacy, we came to know
their habits of mind as we did their facial peculiarities; certain of their
actions made an event in our day. It became a serious matter of
conjecture as to whether Madame de Tours, the social swell of the town,
would or would not offer up her prayer to Deity, accompanied by
Friponne, her black poodle. If Friponne issued forth from the narrow
door, in company with her austere mistress, the shining black silk gown,
we knew, would not decorate the angular frame of this aristocratic
provincial; a sober beige was best fitted to