Three short works: The Dance of Death, the Legend of Saint Julian the Hospitaller, a Simple Soul.Flaubert, Gustave
General
Three short works: The Dance of Death, the Legend of Saint Julian the Hospitaller, a Simple Soul.
Flaubert, Gustave
France -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
The priest first read a condensed lesson of sacred history.
Félicité evoked Paradise, the Flood, the Tower of Babel, the
blazing cities, the dying nations, the shattered idols; and out of
this she developed a great respect for the Almighty and a great
fear of His wrath. Then, when she listened to the Passion, she
wept. Why had they crucified Him who loved little children,
nourished the people, made the blind see, and who, out of
humility, had wished to be born among the poor, in a stable? The
sowings, the harvests, the wine-presses, all those familiar things
which the Scriptures mention, formed a part of her life; the word
of God sanctified them; and she loved the lambs with increased
tenderness for the sake of the Lamb, and the doves because of the
Holy Ghost.
She found it hard, however, to think of the latter as a person,
for was it not a bird, a flame, and sometimes only a breath?
Perhaps it is its light that at night hovers over swamps, its
breath that propels the clouds, its voice that renders church-bells
harmonious. And Félicité worshipped devoutly, while enjoying the
coolness and the stillness of the church.
As for the dogma, she could not understand it and did not even
try. The priest discoursed, the children recited, and she went to
sleep, only to awaken with a start when they were leaving the
church and their wooden shoes clattered on the stone pavement.
In this way, she learned her catechism, her religious education
having been neglected in her youth; and thenceforth she imitated
all Virginia's religious practises, fasted when she did, and went
to confession with her. At the Corpus-Christi Day they both
decorated an altar.
She worried in advance over Virginia's first communion. She fussed
about the shoes, the rosary, the book and the gloves. With what
nervousness she helped the mother dress the child!
During the entire ceremony, she felt anguished. Monsieur Bourais
hid part of the choir from view, but directly in front of her, the
flock of maidens, wearing white wreaths over their lowered veils,
formed a snow-white field, and she recognised her darling by the
slenderness of her neck and her devout attitude. The bell tinkled.
All the heads bent and there was a silence. Then, at the peals of
the organ the singers and the worshippers struck up the Agnus Dei;
the boys' procession began; behind them came the girls. With
clasped hands, they advanced step by step to the lighted altar,
knelt at the first step, received one by one the Host, and
returned to their seats in the same order. When Virginia's turn
came, Félicité leaned forward to watch her, and through that
imagination which springs from true affection, she at once became
the child, whose face and dress became hers, whose heart beat in
her bosom, and when Virginia opened her mouth and closed her lids,
she did likewise and came very near fainting.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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