Oh, did she know that at that very hour, all feverish and restless--from
the height of the rugged road which separated me from her, and which,
alas! I could never more descend--I was directing my eyes upon the
palace where she dwelt, and which a mocking beam of sunlight seemed to
bring nigh to me, as though inviting me to enter therein as its lord?
Undoubtedly she must have known it, for her soul was too sympathetically
united with mine not to have felt its least emotional thrill, and that
subtle sympathy it must have been which prompted her to climb--although
clad only in her nightdress--to the summit of the terrace, amid the icy
dews of the morning.
The shadow gained the palace, and the scene became to the eye only
a motionless ocean of roofs and gables, amid which one mountainous
undulation was distinctly visible. Sérapion urged his mule forward, my
own at once followed at the same gait, and a sharp angle in the road at
last hid the city of S------ for ever from my eyes, as I was destined
never to return thither. At the close of a weary three-days’ journey
through dismal country fields, we caught sight of the cock upon the
steeple of the church which I was to take charge of, peeping above
the trees, and after having followed some winding roads fringed with
thatched cottages and little gardens, we found ourselves in front of the
façade, which certainly possessed few features of magnificence. A porch
ornamented with some mouldings, and two or three pillars rudely hewn
from sandstone; a tiled roof with counterforts of the same sandstone as
the pillars--that was all. To the left lay the cemetery, overgrown with
high weeds, and having a great iron cross rising up in its centre; to
the right stood the presbytery under the shadow of the church. It was a
house of the most extreme simplicity and frigid cleanliness. We entered
the enclosure. A few chickens were picking up some oats scattered upon
the ground; accustomed, seemingly, to the black habit of ecclesiastics,
they showed no fear of our presence and scarcely troubled themselves to
get out of our way. A hoarse, wheezy barking fell upon our ears, and we
saw an aged dog running toward us.
It was my predecessor’s dog. He had dull bleared eyes, grizzled hair,
and every mark of the greatest age to which a dog can possibly attain.
I patted him gently, and he proceeded at once to march along beside me
with an air of satisfaction unspeakable. A very old woman, who had been
the housekeeper of the former curé, also came to meet us, and after
having invited me into a little back parlour, asked whether I intended
to retain her. I replied that I would take care of her, and the dog, and
the chickens, and all the furniture her master had bequeathed her at
his death. At this she became fairly transported with joy, and the
Abbé Sérapion at once paid her the price which she asked for her little
property.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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