“Well, goodbye, Lirat!”
“Goodbye, my friend.”
“Ah! I forgot. Could you lend me five hundred francs? I am expecting my farm rents. They are overdue.”
And I added rapidly:
“I’ll give them back to you tomorrow—tomorrow morning.”
Lirat fixed his glance on me for a moment. I can still see that glance. It was truly sorrowful.
“Five hundred francs!” he said. “Where in the devil do you expect me to get them? Have I ever had five hundred francs?”
I insisted, repeating:
“I’ll give them back to you tomorrow … tomorrow morning.”
“But I haven’t got them, my poor Mintié. I have only two hundred francs left. Would that do you any good?”
I was thinking that these two hundred francs which he offered meant to him a whole month’s subsistence. I answered with a bleeding heart:
“Well, all right! All the same! I’ll give them back to you tomorrow … tomorrow morning.”
“That is all right!”
At that moment I would have wished to throw myself on Lirat’s neck, to beg his pardon, to shout: “No, no I don’t want this money!” And like a thief I took it away with me.
VII
My properties, the Priory itself, the old familiar house mortgaged several times, were sold! … Ah! the sad journey which I made on that occasion! … It was a long time since I had been to Saint-Michel! And yet in my hours of disgust and weariness, in the evil excitement of Paris, the thought of this peaceful little place was sweet and calming. The pure wafts of air which came to me from there had a refreshing effect upon my congested brains, they soothed my heart burned by the corrosive acids which are carried along by the infected air of cities, and I often promised myself that whenever I got tired of always chasing dreams, I would seek refuge there amid the peace and serenity of native objects. … Saint-Michel! … Never was the place so dear to me as after I had left it; it seemed to me that it contained riches and beauty such as I had never known how to enjoy and which I now suddenly discovered … I loved to direct my memories there, best of all I loved to recall the forest, the beautiful forest where, as a restless, dreamy child, I had lost my way so many times. … Inhaling with keen delight the aroma of the rich sap of trees, the ear enchanted by the harmonies of the wind which caused the underwood and forest trees to vibrate like harps and violin cellos, I lost myself in the large alleys overhung with trembling foliage, large, straight alleys which far, far away ended abruptly and opened up like a church bay upon the light of a pane of sky, arched and luminous. …
In these dreams I saw the branches of oak trees reach out their foliage greener than ever, happy to find me again; young staddles greeted me with a joyous rustle as I passed by; they seemed to say to me: “Look how big we grew, how smooth and strong our trunks are, how good the air in which we spread out our slender, swaying boughs, how bountiful the soil in which we sink our roots always full of life—giving sap.” The moss and peat mould called me: “We have prepared a nice bed for you, little fellow, a nice fragrant little bed such as you won’t find in the miserably gilded houses of the big cities. … Stretch yourself out, roll on it if you are too warm, the fern will sway its gentle fans over your head, the beech trees will spread their branches open to let through a sunbeam which will gladden your heart.” Alas! ever since I fell in love with Juliette—these voices have gradually become silent. These memories no longer came back like guardian angels to lull me to sleep and to gently stir their white wings in the agitated azure of my dreams! … My past had become estranged from me, ashamed of me! …
The train sped on; it had cleared the plains of Beauce, even more melancholy to look at than in the grim days of the war. … And I recognized the small, humpy fields, their hedges of brushwood, the scattered apple trees, the narrow valleys, the poplars with their tops bent in the shape of hoods, which in the fields resembled a strange procession of blue penitents, the farms with high mossgrown roofs, highways deep cut and rough, bordered with girdled trees, which slanted down in the midst of sturdy verdure, the woods down yonder, black against the setting sun. … It was getting dark when I arrived at Saint-Michel. I liked it better so. … To cross the streets in full daylight, under the gaze of all these excellent people who had known me as a child, would have been too painful for me. … It seemed to me that I was laden with so much shame that they would turn away from me with horror as from a mangy dog. … I quickened my pace, rolling up the collar of my overcoat. … The grocery owner, named Madame Henriette, who in the past used to stuff me with cake, was standing in front of her store and talking to her neighbors. … I was afraid they might be talking about me and, leaving the sidewalk I took to the roadway. … Fortunately a cart passed by, the noise of which drowned the words of these women: The Presbytery … the Convent of the Sisters … the church … the Priory! … At this hour the Priory was nothing but a huge black mass in the sky. … My heart failed me. … I had to lean against one of the posts of the gate to catch my breath. … A few steps away the forest murmured, its dull voice growing in amplitude, angry, like the raging roar of
