I was led to these various reflections by observing the calm customs, almost cloister-like, prevailing on board the Russian frigate, which, after a few days, caused a very strange reaction upon us passengers.
Nothing, in fact, was more singular than the appearance of this vessel; it was silence amidst the solitude of the waters. Except the orders of the officers, not a word was ever heard. Mute and attentive, the crew answered to the orders of the officers only by the noise of the manœuvres, which were executed with mechanical precision.
At sundown, the chaplain read prayers, all the sailors humbly kneeling, after which they descended into the forecastle.
But everywhere and always, an inexorable silence. If they were whipped for some fault, never a cry; if they rested from their labours, never a song.
The captain and his lieutenant, at whose table M. and Madame Fersen, as well as I, sat, were well-bred men, and excellent sailors, but their minds were not remarkably cultivated.
M. de Fersen read almost incessantly from a collection of French dramatic works.
Madame de Fersen and I, therefore, were left almost isolated in the midst of this little colony; neither men, things, nor events could distract us from our individual preoccupations.
In the midst of this profound calm, this seclusion, this silence, the slightest fancies became firmly impressed on the frame of so simple a life; in a word, if one may so express it, never was canvas more evenly prepared to receive the impressions of the painter, however varied, however eccentric, they might be.
At noon we assembled for breakfast, followed by a walk on deck; then M. de Fersen returned to the reading of his beloved plays, and the officers to their nautical observations.
Madame de Fersen usually occupied the saloon of the frigate; thus every day I chatted with her with scarcely any interruption from two o'clock until the approach of the dinner-hour caused her to withdraw and make a fresh, and always charming, toilet.