Fic: Les Traverseurs de la Mer
...So uh. This is one of the more ridiculous things I've written. (I regret nothing.)
Title: Les Traverseurs de la Mer
Fandom: Les Miserables (book)
Characters: Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Feuilly
Wordcount: 2000ish
Rating: G, no warnings I can think of except harm to fish
Summary:
elsane's notes on her delightful collection of Les Mis ficlets include the comment, "sadly each chapter is a separate ficlet and AO3 won't let me sort the tags by chapter, so although the tags may vaguely suggest an epic adventure where Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Feuilly embark on a steampunk type voyage to the bottom of the sea told entirely in Hugolian pastiche, that story is alas not contained within this work. You cannot be more disappointed about this than I am." So obviously I had to write that.
Notes: Thanks to
littledust for enabling, and to
skygiants for enabling, betaing, and mocking me as much as I deserve. Also up on AO3.
In the Bay of Biscay, waves rocked against a ship's hull. Gulls and terns soared, flapped, skimmed low to scoop up unwary fish. The ship stood with its head to the wind, in that position sailors call 'in irons', motionless save for the slow drift of a very gentle current. The sailors were not worried. This stall was intentional. Several figures moved about the deck, scrubbing boards, splicing old lines, checking equipment, turning a winch connected by gears to three vast spools of cable thick as a man's arm. A small lad perched high in the crow's nest, scanning the horizon with a desultory spyglass, whistling to himself a tune that the wind snatched away from him.
Below, connected to this schooner by the cables being steadily unspooled on its deck, another ship was descending into the depths.
A submersible vessel is a testament to the ingenuity of mankind, and also its bravery. In those days of 1829, the so-called 'hollow fish' was the domain of the most intrepid of sailors and explorers: a little leaky bucket, patched with hope and steered by curiosity, sent to the depths of the ocean.
L'Egalité was a prime example of its kind. It had a large propeller, driven by the stalwart pedaling of a crewman, the rotation of whose feet was magnified into efficiency by means of a cunning system of gears; stabilizing fins, which could be maneuvered to steer the craft; etheric gas-lamps fore and aft, always lit when the craft was in motion; great bubbled windows of thick glass. Being a vessel of scientific exploration, it had also a marvelous collection of jointed arms in a cabinet beneath its belly and maneuvered by special levers. Each arm held a vast collection jar or a lid, or a net or pincers or other devices. Employed with care and skill, they could be used to take specimens for later examination. The whole was covered in a dull gleaming skin of metal, treated with the particular compounds deep-sea sailors call la patine jaune, which give a submersible its well-known golden sheen and enable it to resist corrosion. In those days, this patina was also believed to reinforce a ship's seams against the pressure that leagues of water bring to bear, although I am sorry to say that later experiments have proved otherwise.
L'Egalité was connected to its mother Patria by three glimmering umbilical cords. These provided orientation between fish and ship despite all currents, the ability for an easy retrieval by means of slow winching, and a telegraph line for transmittal of any urgent messages. The trebled number was for redundancy, a necessity over such distances as the hollow fish descended. Sailors call such cords the sea-lines. These young men called them collectively Le Contrat, a contraction of Le Contrat Submersible, after a joke which Bossuet had made upon first comprehending their purpose.
Feuilly was tapping on the telegraph key of the second line.
The young sailors of Patria had numerous codes of their own devising. The one Feuilly was currently finishing signaled that the fish had reached its intended depth. He completed the message, moved to the third sea-line, and repeated his message for the third time; as he began, the receiver key attached to the first line began to chatter. "Understood," was the meaning of its reply. Joly had heard. This message, too, was repeated for each line. All intact.
The winches far above ceased to turn. L'Egalité was at its destination.
Courfeyrac and Combeferre were at work at the banks of levers and wheels to either side of the fish's only compartment. Their hands were quick and sure; they had done this many times. Below them, the jointed arms of the fish unfolded, spindly, long, armed with pincers and nets and jars, riveted and lashed together, strung by more wires to the mechanisms above.
Below them spread the bathyal seafloor of that great shelf of the Atlantic which lies 130 meters below the sea's surface, 140 kilometers southwest of Concarneau on the coast of Brittany. Fish spiraled around their hollow metal namesake, darting forms of silver, salmon, yellow, wine-red, dark as a gun's barrel, striped, splotched, tipped with white or black, all bleached to shades of dim gold-tinged silver by the gas-lamps' beams. Small shapes wriggled and scuttled: crabs, shrimp, small creatures in shells whorled, ridged, grown or stolen; soft-bodied worms and coiling octopi; flat fish half-buried by sand, only their goggled eyes and the small shivers of their motion visible; stranger creatures yet, fleshy stalks and fluttering fronds of animals shaped like ladies' fans and miniature trees. A kilometer further west, in the blackness beyond where L'Egalité's light reached, the break of the continental shelf. A crumbling, sandy cliff into the abyss. Beyond, only mystery.
Courfeyrac moved to the steering mechanism which occupied fully half the compartment. It contained a seat for the pilot, pedals attached to the chain and gears of the propulsion system, assorted levers and wheels and wires by means of which one could control the steering fins and emergency ballast. A curious mechanism, the unfortunate offspring of a bicycle and an engineer's toolbox. He strapped his boots to the pedals. Feuilly slid in smoothly to take his place with Combeferre at the collection levers.
They began to work. Below the ship, arms contracted and unfolded; nets swooped; the lids of collection jars snapped shut. Sand, fish, creatures of the seafloor. All were to be gathered if possible.
Feuilly found himself humming under his breath. He huffed, embarrassed, but Combeferre only smiled slightly and took up the last few lines of the song, one of his own devising some months ago.
"...Je dirais au Periander,
Reprends ton flamme et ton voilier,
J'aime mieux la mer, ô gué!
J'aime mieux la mer."
"There is a disadvantage," remarked Courfeyrac as the last line ended, "to the otherwise entirely agreeable arrangement of our dear Patria's voyages. We are all united on the fundamental importance of oceanic exploration and the firm principle of all mankind's equal right to free passage throughout the sea and free usage of its fruits. You cannot argue with us in song. You may try; your notes change no minds, for we are already singing you a harmony. How is the location, by the way? Holding steady is no trouble, this is an easy current, but shall I move us?"
"I do not scoff at harmony," returned Combeferre placidly, and without looking away from his work. "Yes, thank you, if Feuilly is finished as well. There is a spot a little forward and three meters left which looks promising. I think I spot a specimen of Lophius there beneath the sand." Discerning such forms through the thick and reinforced glass of a hollow fish's windows required no little practice, particularly by the dim and wavering lights which were all a submersible of the day could produce under so many fathoms, but each of Patria's crew had eagerly worked for the skill.
"Nearly," said Feuilly. "I only need -- yes, there, got him. A very small ray. Young or simply of a miniature species, I could not discern. He was moving quite fast."
"We shall see what we can decipher later," said Combeferre.
Feuilly continued, "Move us when you like, Courfeyrac."
"When I like is now." Courfeyrac applied himself to the pedals with greater speed, and to the mechanisms which inclined the hollow fish in the appropriate direction. "Lophius!" he said after a few moments, only a little breathless. "That is the one which looks like a monstrous hag from a child's tale, is it not? All gape and wiggling beard? Kelp fails so far from the light, so a fish's chin takes up the job."
"Yes," said Feuilly. "Lotte is the common name. There are several varieties, all similar, ranging from the waters by Africa up into the Arctic north. Common enough in markets, and sold cheaply; trawl fishing catches them easily. The rich rarely wish to eat such monsters, but the poor man has fewer qualms."
"The English call them monkfish," supplied Combeferre. "Poisson moine. Prouvaire has told me of medieval legends of such creatures being brought to the courts of Norway and Poland. Bestiaries bear out his tale, but as usual they introduced great inaccuracy in their depictions."
"Monks' fish!" cried Courfeyrac. "We have found a cloister of the sea. (Here you are, my friends, our destination: resume your labors.) Quite against our principles. No walls, no enclosures of the waves. A man may mew himself away from the sea, if he's foolish enough to wish it, but I refuse him the right to impede another. A true monk's cloister is of the heart. You see, my uncle the canon has cause for once to be proud, after years of no doubt despairing over such a wayward and radical nephew. I remember my lessons. Collect away, my dear Combeferre. We will bring the monk from his cell to the vast pelagic world, and thence to the world above. A fatal journey, but when is the trip to heaven otherwise?"
"It's done. Feuilly obtained your monk a full minute ago."
"In the large jar next to that ray's containment," said Feuilly. "A monk and a devilfish side by side. We will have a very broad theology."
"Fitting," said Courfeyrac. "Perhaps Enjolras can make a speech of it -- no, the metaphor's not his style. Bossuet will do it."
Combeferre spun a wheel, and squinted through the thick glass at a large rock. "I am not sure this metaphor will prove inspirational."
"Nonsense! We are borne from the crushing depths to the airy heights, the meanest and the holiest alike, by the search for greater knowledge and more useful applications of the sea's bounty. There: a thesis. You cannot fail to approve."
Combeferre smiled.
"There are more crushing depths we have not yet reached," Feuilly pointed out.
"Yes," said Combeferre. As he spoke, his eyes seemed fixed on some point far beyond the reach of L'Egalité's lamps. "You are right. Imagine what we will discover when the abyssal chasms are no longer beyond man's reach! What progress will result! Who can say what discoveries might await us in those unknown fathoms? The domain of the kraken -- the Leviathan, that the Finns call Meritursas and the Japanese, I have heard, call Umi Bozu -- sights no human eyes have ever looked upon. What might we discover of the formation of the Earth, and our geologic past? What remedies might we find for our doctors to employ, what substances for our engineers?"
Courfeyrac cast a fond look at his two companions, whose faces glowed with the fierce intensity of shared dreams, even as their hands continued to work deftly at the hollow fish's controls. "We shall see that day soon enough, if you and our four-finned friend have anything to say about it. But I regret to inform you that I have no intention of venturing into the kraken's lair today. We are quite insufficiently armed for the purpose. Are you nearly done? We should begin our ascent soon, if we wish to have enough air for a safely leisurely rate. Besides, I am anxious to make certain all is well above. The Patron-Minette was spotted in these waters not long ago, you will recall, and while Bahorel is doubtless itching for a fight, I should prefer to be at his side for it."
"I should prefer to avoid a fight entirely," returned Combeferre. "I am not much worried. I doubt they will be eager for another exchange with Enjolras, after the last, and if there were any urgency the telegraph would have informed us of it. Still, you make a fair point. I am done. All my jars are filled."
"And mine." Feuilly hauled the last lever into place. "Help me stow the arms, Combeferre, and we'll return to Patria."
Notes
1) I'm sorry for all of this. (I'm not actually sorry.)
2) Just, uh, don't think too hard about how 1830s-ish technology could successfully get a manned submersible to 130 meters, let alone one with windows and headlights and robotic collection arms and so forth. LA LA LA STEAMPUNK okay.
3) They use their own codes because Morse code wasn't invented yet! The telegraph was, and there were several codes in existence, but to my knowledge nobody'd quite settled on a standardized one yet. Also either their telegraph table has big old battery stacks providing the electricity that goes through those wires, or this is more LA LA LA STEAMPUNK stuff.
4) Combeferre's song translates as follows:
I would say to Periander,
Take your pennant and your sailboat,
I love the sea more, alas!
I love the sea more.
Periander was a ruler (tyrant is the actual technical term) of Corinth in the 600s BCE, and was notable for being an evil tyrant, although I gather it's not clear whether that was just bad press from rivals; at any rate, I wanted someone Combeferre would disapprove of who was involved in naval warfare. You have to kind of squish the scansion to make it work. Flamme mostly means flame, but if my dictionary is to be believed it can also mean a naval pennant. Tragically, my French is not good enough to filk the rest of this thing.
5) Monkfish look like this. They're fascinating creatures! They're also gloriously, nightmarishly hideous. Dear monkfish, I'm sorry I killed you as a scientific specimen for the sake of making puns about your name.
6) Umibozu or umibouzu (usually written as one word) is an actual Japanese sea spirit, but uh it has nothing to do with Leviathan other than that both are large mythological sea creatures. (And umibozu depictions aren't even always large.) Combeferre is a lovely fellow, but he's also a man of 1830s France, and you should not listen to any of the "facts" he thinks he knows about Asian anything. To be honest I'm not even sure he could have heard about umibozu at all, with Edo Japan still mostly closed to Europeans, but whatever, he listens to Dutch sailors.
This entry is also posted at http://genarti.dreamwidth.org/157385.html. You can comment on LJ or DW, whichever you like.
comments at DW.
Title: Les Traverseurs de la Mer
Fandom: Les Miserables (book)
Characters: Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Feuilly
Wordcount: 2000ish
Rating: G, no warnings I can think of except harm to fish
Summary:
elsane's notes on her delightful collection of Les Mis ficlets include the comment, "sadly each chapter is a separate ficlet and AO3 won't let me sort the tags by chapter, so although the tags may vaguely suggest an epic adventure where Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Feuilly embark on a steampunk type voyage to the bottom of the sea told entirely in Hugolian pastiche, that story is alas not contained within this work. You cannot be more disappointed about this than I am." So obviously I had to write that.
Notes: Thanks to
littledust for enabling, and to
skygiants for enabling, betaing, and mocking me as much as I deserve. Also up on AO3.
In the Bay of Biscay, waves rocked against a ship's hull. Gulls and terns soared, flapped, skimmed low to scoop up unwary fish. The ship stood with its head to the wind, in that position sailors call 'in irons', motionless save for the slow drift of a very gentle current. The sailors were not worried. This stall was intentional. Several figures moved about the deck, scrubbing boards, splicing old lines, checking equipment, turning a winch connected by gears to three vast spools of cable thick as a man's arm. A small lad perched high in the crow's nest, scanning the horizon with a desultory spyglass, whistling to himself a tune that the wind snatched away from him.
Below, connected to this schooner by the cables being steadily unspooled on its deck, another ship was descending into the depths.
A submersible vessel is a testament to the ingenuity of mankind, and also its bravery. In those days of 1829, the so-called 'hollow fish' was the domain of the most intrepid of sailors and explorers: a little leaky bucket, patched with hope and steered by curiosity, sent to the depths of the ocean.
L'Egalité was a prime example of its kind. It had a large propeller, driven by the stalwart pedaling of a crewman, the rotation of whose feet was magnified into efficiency by means of a cunning system of gears; stabilizing fins, which could be maneuvered to steer the craft; etheric gas-lamps fore and aft, always lit when the craft was in motion; great bubbled windows of thick glass. Being a vessel of scientific exploration, it had also a marvelous collection of jointed arms in a cabinet beneath its belly and maneuvered by special levers. Each arm held a vast collection jar or a lid, or a net or pincers or other devices. Employed with care and skill, they could be used to take specimens for later examination. The whole was covered in a dull gleaming skin of metal, treated with the particular compounds deep-sea sailors call la patine jaune, which give a submersible its well-known golden sheen and enable it to resist corrosion. In those days, this patina was also believed to reinforce a ship's seams against the pressure that leagues of water bring to bear, although I am sorry to say that later experiments have proved otherwise.
L'Egalité was connected to its mother Patria by three glimmering umbilical cords. These provided orientation between fish and ship despite all currents, the ability for an easy retrieval by means of slow winching, and a telegraph line for transmittal of any urgent messages. The trebled number was for redundancy, a necessity over such distances as the hollow fish descended. Sailors call such cords the sea-lines. These young men called them collectively Le Contrat, a contraction of Le Contrat Submersible, after a joke which Bossuet had made upon first comprehending their purpose.
Feuilly was tapping on the telegraph key of the second line.
The young sailors of Patria had numerous codes of their own devising. The one Feuilly was currently finishing signaled that the fish had reached its intended depth. He completed the message, moved to the third sea-line, and repeated his message for the third time; as he began, the receiver key attached to the first line began to chatter. "Understood," was the meaning of its reply. Joly had heard. This message, too, was repeated for each line. All intact.
The winches far above ceased to turn. L'Egalité was at its destination.
Courfeyrac and Combeferre were at work at the banks of levers and wheels to either side of the fish's only compartment. Their hands were quick and sure; they had done this many times. Below them, the jointed arms of the fish unfolded, spindly, long, armed with pincers and nets and jars, riveted and lashed together, strung by more wires to the mechanisms above.
Below them spread the bathyal seafloor of that great shelf of the Atlantic which lies 130 meters below the sea's surface, 140 kilometers southwest of Concarneau on the coast of Brittany. Fish spiraled around their hollow metal namesake, darting forms of silver, salmon, yellow, wine-red, dark as a gun's barrel, striped, splotched, tipped with white or black, all bleached to shades of dim gold-tinged silver by the gas-lamps' beams. Small shapes wriggled and scuttled: crabs, shrimp, small creatures in shells whorled, ridged, grown or stolen; soft-bodied worms and coiling octopi; flat fish half-buried by sand, only their goggled eyes and the small shivers of their motion visible; stranger creatures yet, fleshy stalks and fluttering fronds of animals shaped like ladies' fans and miniature trees. A kilometer further west, in the blackness beyond where L'Egalité's light reached, the break of the continental shelf. A crumbling, sandy cliff into the abyss. Beyond, only mystery.
Courfeyrac moved to the steering mechanism which occupied fully half the compartment. It contained a seat for the pilot, pedals attached to the chain and gears of the propulsion system, assorted levers and wheels and wires by means of which one could control the steering fins and emergency ballast. A curious mechanism, the unfortunate offspring of a bicycle and an engineer's toolbox. He strapped his boots to the pedals. Feuilly slid in smoothly to take his place with Combeferre at the collection levers.
They began to work. Below the ship, arms contracted and unfolded; nets swooped; the lids of collection jars snapped shut. Sand, fish, creatures of the seafloor. All were to be gathered if possible.
Feuilly found himself humming under his breath. He huffed, embarrassed, but Combeferre only smiled slightly and took up the last few lines of the song, one of his own devising some months ago.
"...Je dirais au Periander,
Reprends ton flamme et ton voilier,
J'aime mieux la mer, ô gué!
J'aime mieux la mer."
"There is a disadvantage," remarked Courfeyrac as the last line ended, "to the otherwise entirely agreeable arrangement of our dear Patria's voyages. We are all united on the fundamental importance of oceanic exploration and the firm principle of all mankind's equal right to free passage throughout the sea and free usage of its fruits. You cannot argue with us in song. You may try; your notes change no minds, for we are already singing you a harmony. How is the location, by the way? Holding steady is no trouble, this is an easy current, but shall I move us?"
"I do not scoff at harmony," returned Combeferre placidly, and without looking away from his work. "Yes, thank you, if Feuilly is finished as well. There is a spot a little forward and three meters left which looks promising. I think I spot a specimen of Lophius there beneath the sand." Discerning such forms through the thick and reinforced glass of a hollow fish's windows required no little practice, particularly by the dim and wavering lights which were all a submersible of the day could produce under so many fathoms, but each of Patria's crew had eagerly worked for the skill.
"Nearly," said Feuilly. "I only need -- yes, there, got him. A very small ray. Young or simply of a miniature species, I could not discern. He was moving quite fast."
"We shall see what we can decipher later," said Combeferre.
Feuilly continued, "Move us when you like, Courfeyrac."
"When I like is now." Courfeyrac applied himself to the pedals with greater speed, and to the mechanisms which inclined the hollow fish in the appropriate direction. "Lophius!" he said after a few moments, only a little breathless. "That is the one which looks like a monstrous hag from a child's tale, is it not? All gape and wiggling beard? Kelp fails so far from the light, so a fish's chin takes up the job."
"Yes," said Feuilly. "Lotte is the common name. There are several varieties, all similar, ranging from the waters by Africa up into the Arctic north. Common enough in markets, and sold cheaply; trawl fishing catches them easily. The rich rarely wish to eat such monsters, but the poor man has fewer qualms."
"The English call them monkfish," supplied Combeferre. "Poisson moine. Prouvaire has told me of medieval legends of such creatures being brought to the courts of Norway and Poland. Bestiaries bear out his tale, but as usual they introduced great inaccuracy in their depictions."
"Monks' fish!" cried Courfeyrac. "We have found a cloister of the sea. (Here you are, my friends, our destination: resume your labors.) Quite against our principles. No walls, no enclosures of the waves. A man may mew himself away from the sea, if he's foolish enough to wish it, but I refuse him the right to impede another. A true monk's cloister is of the heart. You see, my uncle the canon has cause for once to be proud, after years of no doubt despairing over such a wayward and radical nephew. I remember my lessons. Collect away, my dear Combeferre. We will bring the monk from his cell to the vast pelagic world, and thence to the world above. A fatal journey, but when is the trip to heaven otherwise?"
"It's done. Feuilly obtained your monk a full minute ago."
"In the large jar next to that ray's containment," said Feuilly. "A monk and a devilfish side by side. We will have a very broad theology."
"Fitting," said Courfeyrac. "Perhaps Enjolras can make a speech of it -- no, the metaphor's not his style. Bossuet will do it."
Combeferre spun a wheel, and squinted through the thick glass at a large rock. "I am not sure this metaphor will prove inspirational."
"Nonsense! We are borne from the crushing depths to the airy heights, the meanest and the holiest alike, by the search for greater knowledge and more useful applications of the sea's bounty. There: a thesis. You cannot fail to approve."
Combeferre smiled.
"There are more crushing depths we have not yet reached," Feuilly pointed out.
"Yes," said Combeferre. As he spoke, his eyes seemed fixed on some point far beyond the reach of L'Egalité's lamps. "You are right. Imagine what we will discover when the abyssal chasms are no longer beyond man's reach! What progress will result! Who can say what discoveries might await us in those unknown fathoms? The domain of the kraken -- the Leviathan, that the Finns call Meritursas and the Japanese, I have heard, call Umi Bozu -- sights no human eyes have ever looked upon. What might we discover of the formation of the Earth, and our geologic past? What remedies might we find for our doctors to employ, what substances for our engineers?"
Courfeyrac cast a fond look at his two companions, whose faces glowed with the fierce intensity of shared dreams, even as their hands continued to work deftly at the hollow fish's controls. "We shall see that day soon enough, if you and our four-finned friend have anything to say about it. But I regret to inform you that I have no intention of venturing into the kraken's lair today. We are quite insufficiently armed for the purpose. Are you nearly done? We should begin our ascent soon, if we wish to have enough air for a safely leisurely rate. Besides, I am anxious to make certain all is well above. The Patron-Minette was spotted in these waters not long ago, you will recall, and while Bahorel is doubtless itching for a fight, I should prefer to be at his side for it."
"I should prefer to avoid a fight entirely," returned Combeferre. "I am not much worried. I doubt they will be eager for another exchange with Enjolras, after the last, and if there were any urgency the telegraph would have informed us of it. Still, you make a fair point. I am done. All my jars are filled."
"And mine." Feuilly hauled the last lever into place. "Help me stow the arms, Combeferre, and we'll return to Patria."
Notes
1) I'm sorry for all of this. (I'm not actually sorry.)
2) Just, uh, don't think too hard about how 1830s-ish technology could successfully get a manned submersible to 130 meters, let alone one with windows and headlights and robotic collection arms and so forth. LA LA LA STEAMPUNK okay.
3) They use their own codes because Morse code wasn't invented yet! The telegraph was, and there were several codes in existence, but to my knowledge nobody'd quite settled on a standardized one yet. Also either their telegraph table has big old battery stacks providing the electricity that goes through those wires, or this is more LA LA LA STEAMPUNK stuff.
4) Combeferre's song translates as follows:
I would say to Periander,
Take your pennant and your sailboat,
I love the sea more, alas!
I love the sea more.
Periander was a ruler (tyrant is the actual technical term) of Corinth in the 600s BCE, and was notable for being an evil tyrant, although I gather it's not clear whether that was just bad press from rivals; at any rate, I wanted someone Combeferre would disapprove of who was involved in naval warfare. You have to kind of squish the scansion to make it work. Flamme mostly means flame, but if my dictionary is to be believed it can also mean a naval pennant. Tragically, my French is not good enough to filk the rest of this thing.
5) Monkfish look like this. They're fascinating creatures! They're also gloriously, nightmarishly hideous. Dear monkfish, I'm sorry I killed you as a scientific specimen for the sake of making puns about your name.
6) Umibozu or umibouzu (usually written as one word) is an actual Japanese sea spirit, but uh it has nothing to do with Leviathan other than that both are large mythological sea creatures. (And umibozu depictions aren't even always large.) Combeferre is a lovely fellow, but he's also a man of 1830s France, and you should not listen to any of the "facts" he thinks he knows about Asian anything. To be honest I'm not even sure he could have heard about umibozu at all, with Edo Japan still mostly closed to Europeans, but whatever, he listens to Dutch sailors.
This entry is also posted at http://genarti.dreamwidth.org/157385.html. You can comment on LJ or DW, whichever you like.
comments at DW.