French fiction -- Translations into English; Short stories, French -- Translations into English
At first she took pleasure in walking like this. But as she was alone
there was none to gaze at her. Then she became unhappy and ceased to be
amused.
Now her spirit did not know itself but her body awaited the beating of
the Swan’s wings.
CHAPTER II
One evening, as she was hardly awake and thought of continuing her
dream, because a long streak of yellow daylight still flowed behind the
darkness of the forest, her attention was attracted by the sound of the
reeds near her and she saw the apparition of a Swan.
The beautiful bird was as white as a woman, splendid as the light and
gleaming like a cloud. It seemed to be like a midday sky, its form and
its winged spirit. That is why it was called Dzeus.
Lêda knew it to be looking at her as it flew and walked in turn. It
circled around the nymph at a distance and looked sidelong at her. Even
when it was almost touching her it still continued to approach, and
rising on its red feet it stretched its graceful and undulating neck
as high as possible before her young thighs.
Lêda’s astonished hands carefully grasped its little head and caressed
it. The bird fluttered all its feathers, with its soft and feathery
wings it gripped her naked legs and bent them; Lêda let herself fall
upon the ground.
She covered her face with her two hands. She experienced neither fear
nor shame but inexpressible joy and a beating of the heart which made
her breasts tremble.
She did not realize or understand what was about to happen. She did not
even understand why she was happy. She felt along her arms the supple
neck of the Swan.
Why had it come? What had she done that it should come to her? Why had
it not flown away like the other swans on the river or fled like the
satyrs into the forest? From her earliest recollection she had always
lived alone. For that reason her ideas were very limited and the events
of that night were so disconcerting. This Swan she had neither called
nor seen, for she was asleep. It had come.
She neither dared to look nor move lest it should fly away. She felt
upon her flushed cheeks the freshness of the beating of its wings.
Soon it seemed to recoil and its caresses changed. She felt between her
cool knees the warmth of the bird’s body.
She uttered a long sigh of bounteous delight, let fall backward with
closed eyes her fevered head, and plucked the grass with convulsive
fingers.
Then for a long while she remained motionless. At her first gesture
her hand met the Swan’s beak. She sat up and saw the reflection of the
great bird in the river. She wished to rise but the bird prevented her.
She wished to take a little water in the palm of her hand and moisten
her flesh, but the Swan prevented her with its wing.
She clasped the bird in her arms and covered its thick feathers with
kisses, making it set them up with her embraces. Then she stretched
herself upon the river-bank and fell into a deep sleep.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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