France -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
That evening I remained to talk with Mother Le Gannec much longer. I
saw the kindly lady again several times on the jetty, and on those
days the thought of Juliette was less oppressive. I wandered in the
neighborhood of the château which looked to me as desolate as the
Priory. Grass was sprouting in the courtyard, the lawns were not well
kept, the alleys of the park were broken up by the heavy carts of
nearby farmers. The grey stone façade, turned green by rain, was as
gloomy as the large granite rocks that one saw on the waste land....
The following Sunday I went to mass, and I saw demoiselle Landudec
praying among the peasants and fishermen. Kneeling on her prayer stool,
her slim body bent like a primitive virgin, her head over a book,
she prayed with fervor. Who knows? Perhaps she understood that I was
unhappy and mentioned my name in her prayers? And while the priest was
chanting his orison in a tremulous voice, while the nave of the church
was being filled with the noise of wooden shoes beating against the
slabs and with the whisper of lips in prayer, while the incense in
the censer rose to the ceiling together with the shrill voices of the
children in the choir, while the young lady prayed as Juliette would
have done had she prayed at all, I was dreaming.... I was in the park,
and the young lady approached, bathed in moonlight. She took my hand,
and we walked on the lawns and in the shadow of rustling trees.
"Jean," she said to me, "you are suffering and I have come to you. I
have asked God if I could love you. God permits. I love you!"
"You are too beautiful, too pure, too holy to love me! You must not
love me!"
"I love you! Put your arm in mine, rest your head on my shoulder and
let us walk together, always!"
"No, no! Is it possible for the lark to love the owl? Is it possible
for the dove that flies in heaven to love the toad which hides itself
in the mud of stagnant waters?"
"You are not an owl, and you are not a toad, for I have chosen you! The
love which God has permitted me to bear blots out all sin and assuages
all sorrow. Come with me and I shall give you happiness."
"No, no! My heart is cankered, and my lips have drunk the poison which
kills souls, the poison which damns angels like you; don't look at me
so, for my eyes will defile you and you will be like Juliette!..."
The mass was over, the vision disappeared. There arose a noise of moved
chairs and heavy steps in the church, and the children of the choir put
out the tapers on the altar.... Still kneeling, the girl was praying.
Of her face I could distinguish only a profile lost in the shadow of
the white veil. She got up, after making the sign of the cross. I had
to move my chair to let her pass. She passed ... and I felt a real joy,
as though in refusing the love which she offered me in thought I had
just now fulfilled a great duty.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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