Marguerite Audoux

“ When the pig was quite still, Eugène came up. He looked amazed at seeing me carefully catching the last red drops which were rolling down one by one like tears. "Do you mean to say you caught the blood?" he asked. "Yes," said the farmer; "that shows that she is not a chicken heart, like you." "It is quite true," said Eugène to me, "I hate seeing animals killed." "Nonsense," said Master Silvain. "Animals are made to feed us just as wood is made to warm us." Eugène turned away a little, as though he were ashamed of his weakness. His shoulders were thin, and his neck was as round as Martine's. ”

“ I told my idea to Henri Deslois, who looked at the corn for a long time, and then, as though he were speaking to himself, and dragging the words out, he said, "It is much the same kind of thing with a man. Sometimes a woman comes to him. She looks like the white butterflies of the plain. He doesn't know whether she comes up from the earth or whether she comes down from the sky. He feels that with her he could live on the wind which passes, and the fresh young flowers. But like the root which holds the corn to earth a mysterious bond holds him to his duty, which is as strong as the earth." ”

“ I used to imagine that it was dressed like a page, and that it waited for me on the black rafter. One evening I went on a lovely journey with it. I had closed the book, and was leaning on my elbows and looking out of the skylight in the garret. It was almost evening, and the pine trees looked less green. The sun was pushing its way into the white clouds which hollowed themselves and then swelled out again, like down and feathers do when you push something into a sackful of them. ”

“ We went up to the dormitory making a dreadful noise. The big girls whispered together and said they would not put up with Sister Marie-Aimée. The little ones snivelled as though they were going into danger. Ismérie, whom I was carrying upstairs on my back, was crying noisily. Her little fingers hurt my throat, and her tears fell down my neck. Nobody thought of laughing at Sister Gabrielle, who went upstairs slowly, saying "Hush, hush," all the time, without making the noise any less. The servant in the little dormitory was crying too. ”

“ She made a funny little grimace, and said, "I can see you don't remember poor Désirée Joly." Désirée Joly? Of course I remembered her. She was a girl who had become a novice. Her face was rosier than roses. She had a beautiful, slim figure, and used to laugh all day long. We all loved her. She used to jump about so when she played with us that Sister Marie-Aimée often used to say to her, "Come now, come now, not so high, please, Mademoiselle Joly! You are showing your knees!" Even now, when I was looking at her, I could not remember her. She said "Yes, the dress makes a lot of difference." ”

“ My throat had grown so tight that I could not swallow, and I felt a liquid dropping from my mouth into my throat. Then I was wildly frightened, for Madeleine had warned us that if we bit the holy wafer the blood of Christ would stream from our mouths, and that nobody would be able to stop it. Sister Marie-Aimée wiped my face and whispered quite low, "Take care, dear. Are you ill?" My throat loosened, and I swallowed the wafer. Then at last I dared to look down to see the blood on my dress, but I saw only a little grey spot like a drop of water. ”

“ The hours passed, the day grew older, and the cattle disappeared from the plain. A white mist rose from the little river, then a stone slipped behind the barrier of poplar trees, and the broom flowers began to grow darker. Henri Deslois went back towards the farm with me. He walked in front of me on the narrow path, and when he left me just before we came to the avenue of chestnut trees I knew that I loved him even more than Sister Marie-Aimée. ”

“ Madeleine told me, mysteriously, that we were not allowed to talk to Colette alone, and when I wanted to know why, she reeled out a long complicated story which told me nothing at all. I asked Bonne Justine, who used a lot of words which I didn't understand, but told me that a little girl like me must not be alone with Colette. I could never understand why. I noticed that every time one of the big girls gave her her arm to help her to walk about a little, three or four other girls always came up and talked and laughed with them. ”

“ Sometimes we would go for long walks in the woods which skirted the hill. Henri Deslois was never tired of hearing me talk about my childhood, and Sister Marie-Aimée. Sometimes we talked about Eugène, whom he knew. He used to say that he was one of those men whom one liked to have for a friend. I told him what a bad shepherdess I had been, and although I felt sure he would laugh at me, I told him the story of the sheep which was all swollen up. He didn't laugh. He put a finger on my forehead and said, "Love is the only thing that will cure that." ”

“ Several of the big girls stood very straight and looked proud. Bonne Justine stood at one end of the table. She looked sad and bent her head. Bonne Néron, who looked like a gendarme, walked up and down in the middle of the refectory. Now and then she looked at the clock, and shrugged her shoulders. Sister Marie-Aimée came in, leaving the door open behind her. She seemed to me to be taller than usual, in her white apron and white cuffs. She walked slowly, looking at us all. The rosary, which hung at her side, made a little clickety sound, and her skirt swung a little as she walked. ”

“ It took two men all day to cut it down, and just when we thought that it was going to drop nicely, one of the ropes worked loose, and the old elm jumped and fell to one side. It slipped down the roof, knocking down a chimney and a large number of tiles, bumped a piece out of the wall, and fell right across the door. Not one of its branches touched the dung-heap. M. Alphonse yelled with rage. He laid hold of the axe belonging to one of the woodcutters, and struck the tree so violent a blow that a piece of bark flew against the linen-room window and broke a pane. ”

“ I rang the bell, and the porteress looked out at me through the peephole. I recognized her. It was "Ox Eye" still. We had named her Ox Eye because her eyes were big and round like a daisy. She opened the gate when she recognized me, and told me to come in; but before she shut the gate behind me she said, "Sister Marie-Aimée is not here." I didn't answer, so she said again, "Sister Marie-Aimée is not here." I heard what she said quite well, but I didn't pay any attention to it. It was like a dream where the most extraordinary things happen without seeming to be of any importance at all. ”

“ I could not forget the unkind look she always gave me when she passed the old bench and saw me sitting there with Sister Marie-Aimée and M. le Curé. So I waited impatiently to hear what she would say to Mademoiselle Maximilienne. M. le Curé had been away for a week, and Sister Marie-Aimée used to talk to me every day about my new work. She told me how glad she would be to see me on Sundays. She gave me all kinds of good advice, told me to be good and to take care of my health. ”

“ We often used to be sitting on the bench, still, when everybody had gone to bed. The wood owl came quite near to an old elm tree which was by the door, and we used to think that it was saying "good night" to us. Then it would fly away, its great wings passing over us in silence. Sometimes a voice would sing on the hillside. I used to tremble when I heard it. The full voice coming out of the night reminded me of Colette. Eugène would get up to go in when the voice stopped singing, but I always used to stop, hoping to hear it again. ”

“ As they went away, I heard her say to Madeleine: "She makes you ashamed of yourself when she looks at you like that." I had known for a long time that Bonne Néron looked like a bull, but I could not find out what animal Madeleine was like. I thought it over for several days, thinking of all the animals I knew, and at last I gave it up. She was fat, and her hips swayed when she walked. She had a piercing voice, which surprised everybody. She asked leave to sing in church, but as she did not know the hymns. Sister Marie-Aimée told me to teach her. ”

“ The usual strong expression of her face had changed into a sad little grimace, and her hands kept opening and closing, the two of them keeping time. She had been leaning against the chestnut tree, and she went up to Eugène, who was looking at the wolf. She stood by him for a moment looking at the dead wolf too, and said aloud: "Poor brute! How hungry he must have been!" The farmer put the wolf and the sheep on the same wheelbarrow, and wheeled them back to the farm. ”

“ Her dear little face had grown smaller, and seemed to have gone further back into her cap. Her stomacher had not the beautiful curve on her chest that it used to have, and her hands were so thin that the blue veins in them showed up quite clearly. She hardly glanced at the window of her room, but looked out on the linden trees and round the courtyard, and as she caught sight of the Mother Superior's house, these words fell from her like a sigh, "We must forgive others if we wish to be forgiven." ”

“ Sister Marie-Aimée used to kiss me and say, "So you would, if you could only get over your laziness." But when I had made a few caps and had to go on doing the same thing over and over again, my laziness got the better of me. The work bored me, and I could not make up my mind to do it. I could have remained for hours and hours without moving, watching the others work. Marie Renaud never spoke to us while she was sewing. Her stitches were so small and so close together that one needed good eyes to see them. Ismérie sang all the time she sewed, and nobody ever scolded her. ”

“ I remembered at once that Bonne Justine used to have rheumatism too, but she had never screamed like that, and I remember wondering whether poor Sister Marie-Aimée's legs were swollen to three times their size, like those of Bonne Justine. Her cries got worse and worse. One of them was so terrible that it seemed to come right out of her vitals. Then we had heard her moaning, and that was all. A few moments afterwards Madeleine had come up and whispered to Marie Renaud, Marie Renaud had put on her dress, and I heard her go downstairs; Directly afterwards she came back with M. le Curé. ”

“ I kneeled down in front of her, and when she looked at me, I said:
"Perhaps you can get married even though you are a cripple." Colette's story was soon known to everybody. Everybody felt so sad about it that we stopped playing noisy games. Ismérie thought she was telling me a tremendous piece of news when she told me all about it. Sophie told me that we must submit to the will of Our Lady, because She knew what was necessary for Colette's happiness better than we did.
I should have liked to have known whether Sister Marie-Aimée knew about Colette. ”

“ She used to leave me whenever she could and go back to the farm to Bibiche. I had a lot of trouble in keeping my lambs together. They ran every way at once. I compared myself to Sister Marie-Aimée, who always said that her little flock was hard to manage. And yet she used to get us together at one stroke of the bell and she could always make us perfectly quiet by raising her voice a little. But I might raise my voice or crack my whip as much as I liked, the lambs did not understand me, and I was obliged to run about all round the flock as though I were a sheep dog. ”

“ Never become a poor religious." She heaved a long sigh of regret, and said, "Our dress of black and white tells others that we are creatures of strength and of brightness. At our bidding all tears are dried, and all who suffer come to us for consolation, but nobody thinks of our own suffering. We are like women without faces." ”

“ Colette had given up all hopes of a miracle to take her away, and yet she could not make up her mind to remain. When she saw all the girls of her own age go one by one, she began to rebel. She would not go to confession anymore, and she would not take holy communion. She used to go to mass because she sang there, and she was fond of music. I often stopped with her and consoled her. She explained to me that marriage meant love.
Sister Marie-Aimée, who had not been well for some time, became quite ill. Madeleine nursed her devotedly and treated us dreadfully badly. ”

“ When my eyes got better I used to get an alphabet as well as sweets and cakes. It was a little book with pictures next to the words. I often used to look at a great big strawberry which I fancied as big as a bun. When it was not cold in the classroom, Sister Marie-Aimée put me on a bench between Ismérie and Marie Renaud, who slept in the two beds next to mine in the dormitory. Now and then she used to let me go back to my hollow again, and I loved that. ”

“ She was so afraid that something might happen to the piles of linen which were beginning to grow that she took me off next day to her mother's to show me how the linen should be put into the closets.
Madame Alphonse's mother was called Madame Deslois, but when the ploughmen talked about her they always said "the good woman of the castle." She had only been to Villevieille once. She had come close up to me and looked at me with her eyes half shut. She was a big woman who walked bent double as if she were looking for something on the ground. She lived in a big house called the Lost Ford. ”

“ She was a big, dark woman with large eyes and a bored look. She left the farm with her husband without having glanced at me once. When their cart had disappeared down the avenue of chestnut trees, Pauline told Eugène what M. Tirande had said to me. Eugène, who was leaving the room, turned to me suddenly. He looked very angry, and his voice was quite changed. He said that these people were disposing of me as though I were a bit of furniture which belonged to them. While Pauline was pitying me, Eugène told me that it was M. Tirande who had told Master Silvain to take me on the farm. ”

“ I should like to say quite earnestly—and perhaps a little shamefacedly, because we hate saying these things out loud—that when I had read it I felt awed. The book had worked upon me. Do you remember the impression made on you by moonlight upon the snow in the country? You must be quite alone to feel it. The purity of it all makes you wish that you were a cleaner man or woman, and, till you rub shoulders with people again, you mean to try hard to be cleaner and better. Marie Claire made me feel just exactly like that. ”

“ Every paragraph of the work bears the unmistakable and inimitable work of one individuality. And among the friends of Marguerite Audoux, even the most gifted, there is none who could possibly have composed any of the passages which have been singled out as being beyond the accomplishment of a working sempstress. The whole work and every part of the work is the unassisted and untutored production of its author. ”

“ Ox Eye used to ring the bell to announce them. Every time she rang Veronique went out to see who was coming in. She always had something disagreeable to say about each one of the sisters whom she recognized. One evening the bell sounded. Veronique, who was looking out, said, "Well, here's one whom nobody expected." She put her head into the kitchen again, and said, "It is Sister Marie-Aimée." The big spoon which I had in my hand slipped through my fingers and dropped into the copper. I rushed to the door, pushing past Veronique, who wanted to keep me back. Mélanie rushed after me. ”

“ Then she went on quickly, "I recognized you at once," she said. "You still have the same baby face." When I told her I had imagined Sister Désirée-des-Anges to be old and cross, she answered, "We were both wrong. I had been told that you were vain and proud; but when I saw you crying in the middle of the snow, I thought only that you were suffering, and I went to you." When she had helped me to bed, she divided the room again with the curtain, and I went to sleep at once.
But I didn't sleep well. I woke up every minute. ”

“ As soon as I was up next morning, the cowherd took me to the stables to help him give the fodder to the cattle. He showed me the sheep pens, and told me that I was going to look after the lambs instead of old Bibiche. He explained to me that the lambs were taken from their mothers every year, and that a special shepherdess was needed to look after them. He also told me that the name of the farm was Villevieille, and that everybody was happy there because Master [1] Silvain the farmer, and Pauline, his wife, were kind people. ”

“ I had not forgotten Sister Marie-Aimée, but I was no longer as sick with longing for her as I used to be. And I was happy on the farm.
In the month of June the men came, as they came every year, to shear the sheep. They brought bad news with them. All over the country the sheep were falling ill as soon as they had been shorn, and numbers of them were dying. Master Silvain took his precautions, but in spite of all he could do, a hundred of the sheep fell sick. A doctor said that by bathing them in the river a good many of them might be saved. ”