Part 7

“I am nothing. He did not look at me even once! I am ugly, it’s true, and badly dressed in this blue so unbecoming to me. But I am satisfied. Oh! I wish I could displease him still more!”

At that moment Alain noticed her.

“She is really the prettiest.”

He threw her a rose he had just stolen from one of the other two women.

“Thanks, Zinzoline,” said Paula, “you do not often make me presents; I shall keep this one.”

“He wanted to humiliate me,” she thought, “what shall I do to displease him still more? Stay here or go?”

She looked at the two young women:

“Stay.”

She smelled the rose:

“Go.”

“I am going up,” said Aline at that moment, “are you, Paula?”

She looked again at the two young women half concealed from her by Alain who was facing them.

“No, I stay here.”

Alain turned his head towards her. His face was smiling.

“Yes, I am going too, wait for me.”

She was thinking:

“He looked at me ironically. He thinks I want to watch him. What an idea! I scorn him!”

Aline entered the parlor. Paula went up to her room. She put some water into a small vase of blue crystal, and, before putting the rose in it, long inhaled its odor, looked attentively at it, then suddenly with a quick motion brought it to her lips.

“I am going mad. I am ashamed of my own self! What’s this flower to me? How stupid! No! no! no!”

And she crushed the rose in a violent fury, threw its shreds on the floor, and began to stamp her feet over the petals in ever-rising childish wrath. Coming to herself, she carefully swept into the fireplace the remnants of her rejected joy, when another fit overtook her in this humble plight. With the small duster in one hand, leaning with the other on the marble, comical and tragic, she burst into tears.

Paula once more found strength to counteract this. She straightened up, washed her eyes, forced herself to read three pages from _The Treasure of the Humble_, and went down calm and cool. Everybody was already in. As usual, she helped Aline to serve the tea. Alain, in the meantime, continued his adolescent pranks. Alain, eighteen years of age, was awkward and insolent, though quite innocently so, for he thought himself very clever as he had already conquered the hearts of two servant maids and one little flower girl in the neighboring city. He saw them swoon away by turns from pleasure and disappointment, and told them such things as occasions required. Hence, he did not think himself insolent at all but, on the contrary, well-bred and even affable.

He was rather tall and graceful, beardless and with hair closely cut. His head was of two hues superimposed above each other, rose and copper, in the rose—two big blue flowers. He was peculiar in appearance and very captivating; women desired him as they desire a sparkling, rare jewel, but being too self-conscious, he failed to notice their desire. Besides, the friends of his mother or sister seemed to him impenetrable fortresses. These two women, however, showed their weakness, and he began to believe them vulnerable.

Remaining alone with the two women, he began to tell them, rather awkwardly, the greatest impertinences in the world.

“I love you both, yes, both.”

“We don’t need to be loved,” answered the younger quickly, “we have husbands.”

“Husbands? Do they know how to love?”

“Certainly,” she answered.

“If your husbands loved you they would not have gone out hunting. They would have acted like me. They would have got a sudden pain in their foot and stayed with you.”

And he pointed to his slipper.

The young woman would not admit herself defeated. She said:

“There is a time for all things.”

But she was thinking:

“Heavens! He remained for my sake! he loves me.”

“So he loves me?” thought the other. “He loves me!”

As if divining their secret thoughts, Alain became more daring.

“Only lovers know how to love.”

“Perhaps this is true?” thought the older. “Shall I try it?”

“He is right,” thought the younger, who had some experience. “He would love me splendidly!”

They dropped their eyes to dream the better.

“_Mesdames_,” said Alain, “I place my heart at your feet.”

This time they both laughed.

“What a devil!”

“What a little demon!”

“Oh! I wish I could whisper something in your ears, to both at the same time.”

“Naughty boy!”

“Naughty boy!”

“Alright, one after the other. Let us draw lots.”

They began to laugh still more loudly.

“I shall say one word to each and ask one question. I expect an answer.”

“No, I don’t want to hear anything.”

“And still less, to answer.”

“But I won’t say the same thing to both, and won’t ask the same question.”

“You wouldn’t say anything that can’t be listened to?”

“You wouldn’t ask questions that can’t be answered?”

“Naturally.”

“Alright, give us the lots, naughty boy.”

“I yield my turn.”

“Your turn, dear Madame. Be kind enough to come near. Good: ‘I love 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