Clergy -- Fiction; France -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; French fiction -- Translations into English
Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny
THE VILLAGE RECTOR
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley
DEDICATION
To Helene.
The tiniest boat is not launched upon the sea without the
protection of some living emblem or revered name, placed upon it
by the mariners. In accordance with this time-honored custom,
Madame, I pray you to be the protectress of this book now launched
upon our literary ocean; and may the Imperial name which the
Church has canonized and your devotion has doubly sanctified for
me guard it from perils.
De Balzac.
THE VILLAGE RECTOR
I. THE SAUVIATS
In the lower town of Limoges, at the corner of the rue de la
Vieille-Poste and the rue de la Cite might have been seen, a generation
ago, one of those shops which were scarcely changed from the period of
the middle-ages. Large tiles seamed with a thousand cracks lay on the
soil itself, which was damp in places, and would have tripped up those
who failed to observe the hollows and ridges of this singular flooring.
The dusty walls exhibited a curious mosaic of wood and brick, stones and
iron, welded together with a solidity due to time, possibly to chance.
For more than a hundred years the ceiling, formed of colossal beams,
bent beneath the weight of the upper stories, though it had never given
way under them. Built _en colombage_, that is to say, with a wooden
frontage, the whole facade was covered with slates, so put on as to
form geometrical figures,--thus preserving a naive image of the burgher
habitations of the olden time.
None of the windows, cased in wood and formerly adorned with carvings,
now destroyed by the action of the weather, had continued plumb; some
bobbed forward, others tipped backward, while a few seemed disposed to
fall apart; all had a compost of earth, brought from heaven knows where,
in the nooks and crannies hollowed by the rain, in which the spring-tide
brought forth fragile flowers, timid creeping plants, and sparse
herbage. Moss carpeted the roof and draped its supports. The corner
pillar, with its composite masonry of stone blocks mingled with brick
and pebbles, was alarming to the eye by reason of its curvature; it
seemed on the point of giving way under the weight of the house, the
gable of which overhung it by at least half a foot. The municipal
authorities and the commissioner of highways did, eventually, pull the
old building down, after buying it, to enlarge the square.
The pillar we have mentioned, placed at the angle of two streets, was
a treasure to the seekers for Limousin antiquities, on account of its
lovely sculptured niche in which was a Virgin, mutilated during the
Revolution. All visitors with archaeological proclivities found traces
of the stone sockets used to hold the candelabra in which public piety
lighted tapers or placed its _ex-votos_ and flowers.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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