1
A broad avenue of beeches stretches in front of our garden; and at the
far end is the open country. Here we have placed a seat which looks out
over space. Nothing but fields and fields, as far as the eye can reach;
nothing but land and sky. We love the security of this elemental
landscape, where the alternations of light succeed one another
inexorably. The noontides are fierce and dazzling. The soft, opalescent
mornings are fragrant with love and pleasure. But, most of all, the
sunsets attract us by their unwearied variety, sometimes sober and
tender, ever fainter and more ethereal, sometimes blood-red, monstrous
and barbaric.
The one which I watched to-day was pale and grey; and the obedient earth
humbly espoused its gentle tones. With my hands clasped in my lap, it
seemed to me that I was drinking in the peace that filled my heart; and
my eyes, which unconsciously fastened on my hands, held for a moment my
whole life enclosed there.
Then I heard indistinctly steps approaching me. A woman sat down on the
bench. The corner of her apron had brushed against my knees; I raised my
head and saw the young girl sitting by my side.
She said, simply:
"Here I am."
And at this short speech my mind is in a tumult; thoughts rush wildly
through my brain without my being able to follow one of them. I press
her hands, I look at her, I laugh, while little cries of delight burst
from my lips:
"You are here at last! I was expecting you! Do you know that you are
very pretty ... and that you look sweet and kind?... Make haste and tell
me all about yourself...."
But she does not answer. She stares at me with wide-open eyes; and my
impulsive phrases strike with such force against her stupefaction that
each one of them seems by degrees to fall back upon myself. I in my turn
am left utterly dumfounded; she is so ill at ease that I myself become
nervous; her astonishment embarrasses me; I secretly laugh at my own
discomfiture; and I end by asking, feebly:
"What's your name?"
"Rose."
"Rose ... Roseline.... My name is...."
And I burst out laughing. We were really talking like two children
trying to make friends. I threw my arm round her waist and put my lips
to her cheek. I loved its milky perfume. My kiss left a little white
mark which the blood soon flushed again.
She told me that she had seen me from a distance and that she had come
running up without stopping. I was careful not to ask her what she
wanted to tell me, for I knew that she had obeyed my wishes rather than
her own; and I led her towards the house:
"Rose, my dear Rose.... I know that you are unhappy."
She stops, gives me a quick look and then turns red and lowers her eyes.
Thereupon, so as not to startle her, I ask her about her work and about
the farm.
Rose answers shily, in short sentences, and we walk about in the garden.
From time to time, she stops to pull up a weed; methodically, she breaks
off the flowers hanging faded from their stalks; occasionally, she makes
a reference, full of sound sense, to the care required by plants and
vegetables. But my will passes like an obliterating line over all that
we say, over all that we do; and, while Rose anxiously tries to fill the
silence, I lie in wait, ready for a word, a sigh, a look that will
enable me to go straight to the heart of that soul, which I am eager to
grasp even as we take in our hand a mysterious object of which we are
trying to discover the secret.
Alas, the darkness between us is too dense and there is only the light
of her beautiful eyes, those sad, submissive eyes, to guide my pity! Our
conversation is somewhat laboured; the girl evades any direct question;
and any opinion which I venture to form can be only of the vaguest.
She seems to me to be lacking in spirit, of a nervous and despondent
temperament, but not unintelligent. I know nothing of her mental powers.
We sometimes see an active intelligence directing very inferior
abilities, just as our good friend the dog is an excellent shepherd to
his silly, docile flock. In her, the most ordinary ideas are so
logically dovetailed that one is tempted to accept them even when one
hesitates to approve them. Her mind must be free from baseness, for
throughout our conversation she made no effort to please me. Would it
not have needed a very quick discernment, a very uncommon shrewdness to
know so soon that she would please me better like that?
That was what I said to myself by way of encouragement, so great was my
haste to pour into her ears those instinctive words of hope and
independence which it was natural to utter. And, let them be premature
or tardy, barren or fruitful, I could not refrain from speaking them....
But suddenly she released herself: it was already past the time for
milking the cows; they must be waiting for her. Nevertheless, she gave a
shrug of the shoulders which implied that she cared little whether she
was late or not; and, with a "Good-bye till to-morrow!" she went off
heavily, making the ground ring with the steady tramp of her wooden
shoes.
For an instant I stood motionless in the orchard. Her shrill voice still
sounded in my ears; and the constraint of her attitude oppressed me. The
road by which she had just gone was now hardly visible. A fog rose from
the sea and gradually blotted out everything. The plains, the hills, the
cottages vanished one by one; and already, around me, veils of mist
clung to the branches of the apple-trees. At regular intervals, the boom
of the fog-horn startled the silence.
2
Those who pass through our life and who will simply play a part there
take shape in successive images. The first, a fair but illusive picture,
fades away as another sadly obtrudes itself; and another, paler yet,
comes in its turn; and thus they all vanish, becoming less and less
distinct until the end, until the day when a last, vague outline is
fixed in our memory.
How different is the process in the case of those who are to remain in
our existence and blend with it for all time! It is then as though the
living reality at the very outset shattered the image formed by our
admiration and triumphantly took its place. In point of fact, it
vivifies it and, later, heightens it, colours it, ever enriching it with
all the benefits which the daily round brings to healthy minds. Those
beings will always remain with us, whatever happens; they will be more
present in their absence than things which are actually present; and the
taste, the colour, the very life itself of our life will never reach us
except through them.
I thought of all this vaguely. There were two women before me: one,
coarse and awkward, was obliterating the other, so beautiful amid the
ripe corn. Alas, should I ever see that other again? Was she not one of
those images which fade out of our remembrance, becoming ever paler and
more shadowy?
I felt a little discouraged. But perhaps the sadness of the hour was
influencing me? My feminine nerves must be affected by this damp, warm
mist. I went back to the house, doing my utmost simply to think that I
was about to undertake a "rather difficult" task.
Under the lamp, which the outside pall had caused to be lit earlier than
usual, and in the brightness of the red-and-white dining-room, decked
with gorgeous flowers, I discovered another side to my interview. While
I was describing it laughingly, my disappointment had seemed natural;
and, my eagerness being now reinforced by pity, a new fervour inspired
my curiosity.
In sensitive and therefore anxious natures, the very excess of the
sensation makes the impression received subject to violent reaction. It
goes up and down, down and up; and not until it slackens a little can
reason intervene and bring it to its normal level.