you. And you?’ ‘Monster!’ Now yours: ‘I adore you. Do you love me!’
‘Hush!’ I kept my word and you did likewise. Now let us go and have tea
with a gratified conscience of duty performed.”
They walked, thinking. Alain followed them and was asking himself:
“With which shall I begin and how?”
* * * * *
The dawn was hardly breaking when Paula was already on her feet. She
had slept very little. Before dressing, she went out of her bedroom,
and straight to an adjacent room called the laundry, which contained
besides the wash of the entire household, all sorts of remnants of
worn-out clothes, hats, and discarded ribbons—a heritage left by
several generations of women. There were multicolored silks brought
into fashion by the Empress Eugenie, there was amaranthine velvet, and
nacarat satins.
“Ah! Here is something I want!”
She took a box of ribbons the sad color of which seemed to answer fully
the definition of zinzoline—reddish violet.
“How ugly!”
She fastened bows of zinzoline silk to her blue waist, to her white
neck, to her chestnut hair.
“I look like a wild woman,” she said looking at herself in the mirror,
“he will laugh at me; perhaps he is angry. If I do not quite displease
him this time, what else can I do?”
She went into the garden. A blackbird was madly whistling the five
notes of its monotonous plaint; the sun was casting long shadows; there
was velvety dew on the leaves and the grass. She saw a morning glory
open truly like a pretty eye; she ate up an apple cold as ice. Paula
thought of nothing except how jolly it would be to leap like an early
roe.
But what was that she suddenly noticed under the lilac bush? Alain
sitting on a bench and looking at her in surprise!
The sight of this friendly enemy revived her rancor.
“What! You are not thinking about me?”
“No, dear, Paula, I was thinking of my own self.”
“Do you always get up so early?”
“Only today.”
Standing in the full light of the sun, Paula sparkled with zinzoline
hues.
“Where did you find this?”
“What?”
“These dreadful ribbons.”
“Dreadful? Do you think so?”
“You put them on for my sake, perhaps?”
“Why not?”
“If you intended to displease me, you fully succeeded. But listen, I
thought you were indifferent to everything, I thought nothing could
touch your heart, and here I see you up at five in the morning....”
“And you?”
“I! I am, at least, in love.”
“Not I.”
“... and you disguise as a gypsy and run about in the garden to shake
off your thoughts.... Sit down near me, Paula, come.... This is really
zinzoline.... What an idea! But you have not been so foolish as you
thought, and I am less stupid than you imagine....”
“Well?” she said with ill-disguised coolness.
“Well, I am like you, I do not know what to say. I would like to jest,
but cannot.... Paula, Paula, do you know why we both got up with the
sun? Tell me, do you?... Give me your hand, Paula.”
She let him take her hand, she let his arm embrace her, she allowed him
to press her to his breast. The trees, flowers, heaven and earth—all
became a whirling confusion. She shut her eyes, her head fell.
“Tell me, do you know?” continued Alain. “Well, we sought and found
each other.”
She was a tender mistress of Alain during all his vacation and long
after, every time he returned home.
One day Alain said to her:
“We ought to marry. But how shall we do it? Can a man marry at
eighteen? Let us wait a little.”
“Let us not talk about it,” answered Paula, “I am yours, and you can do
with me whatever you please.”
And so she reconciled her happiness with her love of suffering. She
was very happy in the course of many years.
WHITE
_Cet unanime blanc conflit
D’une guirland avec la même._
_S. Mallarmé._
There were once two children of the same age, a little boy and a little
girl. They loved each other very much, were never happy apart, and
their playing had much tenderness in it. In the game of hide-and-seek,
whenever the little girl was caught, she would fall into the arms of
her friend, throw her head back, lower her eyes, half-open her mouth;
and if the kisses were not showered upon her, she would demand them
or go in search of them, raising her mouth gracefully to his timid or
distracted lips. They had just completed their tenth year.
One day when it was very warm, they removed their socks and went
splashing into the stream. They became very wet and went to dry
themselves in the sun on the warm grass. The sight of their little rosy
legs and wet knees excited their curiosity. They made comparisons, and
the little boy had the good sense to notice that his skin was less
smooth. “And not so tender,” he said; and his hands were in agreement
with his eyes.
They recommenced next day, and read more with each day. Their kisses,
now accompanied by soft caresses, sent the blood to their heads. But
an instant later they thought no more of it and broke out in innocent
laughter. They were happy.
With the coming of the first cold and rainy days they transferred their
games to a big half-empty room, left entirely to them. The little boy,
who was attending school, came to pass his time at his friend’s house.
The little girl was receiving instruction at home. Whenever the weather
was bad, the little boy took lessons together with her. Their parents,
with an eye on the future, noticed with pleasure the childish intimacy
of the two pupils.
Toward the month of September a curé came to the house, and was taken
by the mother into the large room where the children were at play.
They brought him an armchair and a foot-stool. He sat down, pulled out
his snuff-box, blew his nose, took a good pinch of snuff, and began to
talk of God. They knew the topic very well, but the little girl became
attentive when the priest turned to her and said:
“My child, I hope you will soon make the acquaintance of your creator.
You know how much he loves you and also how much you love Him. Pure
hearts always love the kind God. But true love requires greater
intimacy and greater sacrifice. Jesus will come to you and you must
submit to Him with trust. You will feel the sacred embrace of your
creator. In a word, my dear little girl, we are going to prepare you
for your first communion.”
“And I?” asked the little boy.
“Listen,” said the priest, “and profit by my words. You know,” he
continued, turning again to the little girl, “the whole importance of
such an act. Catechism teaches you the grandeur of this sacrament. What
mystery in the union of the creator and the created! This union is
achieved by the Eucharist, and brings to those who know how to prepare
themselves for it and how to render themselves worthy of it, the
ineffable joys of divine love....”
He spoke a long time, and the frigidity of his speech contrasted
strangely with the exalted sentiments he was expressing. Every minute
he unfolded a big red, dirty handkerchief, opened his snuff-box, took
a pinch, spat, sneezed. The little girl understood nothing of all the
grandiloquence on love retailed by the old automaton; however, he spoke
of love, and this word even in such a mouth charmed her and made her
tremble a little.
Her confessor did not as yet question her on the sixth commandment, but
at the approach of the great day he departed from his usual reserve
and indifference. His questions, very precise and in conformity with
the church manual, interested the little girl very much. Her heart
bled reflecting upon them. Then all that was sin! These games, kisses,
fondling, caresses—sins! The priest did not, however, apprise her of
anything through which might have lost her innocence without knowing
it.
One afternoon, she refused a kiss of her friend, and went, without
further explanation, to kneel in a corner of her room. Then she
took out a book and began to read: “Let us have faith to remove all
obstacles that prevent the coming of Christ within us. Let us prepare
Him a sanctuary, pure, adorned, kindled with love; and when He comes we
can say in the fervor of our joy: ‘My beloved is mine, He rests in my
heart’....”
She pronounced these last words aloud. The little boy heard them and
asked in tears:
“You don’t love me any more, then?”
“You cannot understand these things. I like you as a brother, as a
little friend; I have great affection for you, but my love belongs to
Jesus.”
“To Jesus!”
He shrugged his shoulders, vexed in his affliction.
“Jesus loves me, how can I fail to love Him. He is courting me, how can
I resist Him? Don’t you know that He is Almighty, that He can grind
both of us to dust, at this very moment?”
“Is that true?”
He reflected, overwhelmed, upon this stranger so powerful and so cruel
who came to take his friend away, to break his heart.
“Ah! Let Him kill me, but let Him not take you away!”
“He won’t take me away. Did He take Angela, Laura, Juliette whom He
loved last year and who are still happy?”
“Then he won’t always love you?”
“He will always love me but from a distance; and I will love Him. But
I am not the only one on this earth and He has to reach the hearts of
all the little girls who have their first communion.”
“Does he also reach the hearts of little boys?”
“I don’t think so,” she said in a tone of irony. “He cannot offer
little boys anything more than good, firm friendship.”
“I will never love Him.”
“You will have to love Him, when your heart is pure. You’ll see.”
“Ah!”
“I have a pure heart. I confessed all my sins!”
“What sins?”
“Be still and ask God’s forgiveness.”
She turned again to her prayers.
Her friend was lost in thought.
Less mature than little girls, little boys have their first communion a
year later than girls of the same age. It was a custom; he did not feel
himself humiliated by it. Still he was very anxious to participate in
the mysteries into which his friend was going to be initiated. He was
resentful both through jealousy and fear.
“I hope,” he thought, “He doesn’t do her any harm!”
The great day arrived. He saw his little friend pale and pretty in a
cloud of muslin. Coming near her, he whispered:
“How I do love you!”
She lowered her eyes and began to roll the rosary between her hands
gloved in white. She passed without answering him, without looking at
him. He was sad throughout the ceremony. The reading of the acts braced
him up a little, but his heart broke when he heard the voice of his
friend:
“Oh, my wealth, my treasure, my life, my paradise, my love, my all,
receive a heart burning with love.... Oh, my treasure, I want to live
and die in endless communion with you!... My well-beloved is mine and I
am His. Oh, Jesus, I do not want to be my own, I want to be yours. Let
all my faculties be yours and let them serve your pleasure....”
“Ingrate!” he thought. He felt a spasm of anger. Then he recalled the
enchanting moments spent with his friend, their games, their laughter,
those long kisses which left them breathless, those embraces out of
which they came blushing, skin burning, eyes moist....
“Someone else will now give her all these pleasures! And I am going to
be alone.... She does not love me any more....”
The little girl had the honor to speak again after communion. She
returned to her place first from the ceremony, fell on her knees,
hid her face in her hands, and remained long absorbed in thought. A
powerful sentiment was weighing her down. She felt sad and happy:
“He is within me, I feel Him in my heart.... My heart is expanding....
I am choking with joy.... I am loved, I am loved.... Is this you, my
love? Oh! Rest in my arms, clasp me to you again, again! Ah! My heart
is faint.... My head is reeling.... Ah! Ah! what emotion! I am going to
confess my love for Him aloud. I am very happy, very proud.... Do you
love me? He loves me.”
And she rose and said:
“Oh, kind Savior, I have devoted myself to you, You have devoted
yourself to me. I want to sacrifice to You all my earthly pleasures.
I sacrifice to You my body, my soul, my will. This is all I have to
offer, alas! If I had more I would give more, I would like to die for
You.... Kindle me with Your love. But I cannot be pleased with a
spark, I want a tongue of flame, I want a thousand of them, I want a
conflagration which would destroy within me all attachment to living
creatures.... Vain creatures, leave me alone, you will no longer see
me. My heart belongs entirely to my well-beloved....”
“She does not love me any more,” he thought, “she will never love me
again.”
He cried. His neighbors thought it was from piety.
In the meantime the Mass was being finished and one could already hear
the moving of chairs in the back of the church. The little girl reborn
through love was also devoured by hunger. Then she thought of her home,
her parents, her friend, of the fine ceremonial table sparkling with
flowers, crystals, silverware; she thought of the kitchen and the cook.
She was sure that a fine plate of soup was already being cooled for
her.
“After that I shall eat a little cake.... My friend will be there
anxious to wait upon me.... I like him very much.... We shall take a
walk while waiting for the vespers. We shall pick some flowers, nothing
but white, white like my veil, like my heart. I am happy!”
The little boy ran to the house of his friend where his own family
breakfasted that day. He came to notify the cook. And in the pantry
were two portions of soup, two wonderful tarts, and two glasses of wine.
When the little girl arrived, he took her hand and she allowed him to
lead her. At the sight of the little dinner all prepared, her little,
feminine heart leaped with joy. She fell on the neck of the little boy
and embracing him with all her strength, said:
“You know, Jesus is my mystic spouse, but this will not last long.
While He still loves me, tell me what you want, He will not refuse
anything to his little spouse.”
“I want you to love me as before.”
“Here,” she said.
And she offered her lips.
“Are you satisfied? Let us eat now, I am hungry.”
Transcriber’s Notes
pg 146 Changed: that my conquest of the Admirality
To: that my conquest of the Admiralty