Letters from my Windmill Part 4

And there she was--gone--taking the empty baskets with her.

As she disappeared along the steep path, stones disturbed by the mule's hooves, seemed to take my heart with them as they rolled away. I could hear them for a very long time. For the rest of the day, I stood there daydreaming, hardly daring to move, fearing to break the spell. Towards the evening, as the base of the valleys became a deeper blue, and the bleating animals flocked together for their return to the compound, I heard someone calling to me on the way down, and there she was; mademoiselle herself. But she wasn't laughing any more; she was trembling, and wet, and fearful, and cold. She would have me believe that at the bottom of the hill, she had found the River Sorgue was swollen by the rain storm and, wanting to cross at all costs, had risked getting drowned. The worse thing, was that at that time of night, there was no chance of her getting back to the farm. She would never be able to find the way to the crossing place alone, and I couldn't leave the flock. The thought of staying the night on the mountain troubled her a great deal, particularly as her family would worry about her. I rea.s.sured her as best I could:

--The nights are short in July, my Lady. It's only going to seem like a pa.s.sing, unpleasant moment.

I quickly lit a good fire to dry her feet and her dress soaked by the river. I then placed some milk and cheese in front of her, but the poor little thing couldn't turn her thoughts to either warming herself or eating. Seeing the huge tears welling up in her eyes, made me want to cry myself.

Meanwhile night had almost fallen. There was just the faintest trace of the sunset left on the mountains' crests. I wanted mademoiselle to go on into in the compound to rest and recover. I covered the fresh straw with a beautiful brand new skin, and I bid her good night. I was going to sit outside the door. As G.o.d is my witness, I never had an unclean thought, despite my burning desire for her. I had nothing but a great feeling of pride in considering that, there, in a corner of the compound, close up to the flock watching curiously over her sleeping form, my masters' daughter rested,--just like a sheep, though one whiter and much more precious than all the others,--trusting me to guard her. To me, never had the sky seemed darker, nor the stars brighter.... Suddenly, the wicker fence opened and the beautiful Stephanette appeared. She couldn't sleep; the animals were scrunching the hay as they moved, or bleating in their dreams. For now, she just wanted to come close to the fire. I threw my goat-skin over her shoulders, tickled the fire, and we sat there together not saying anything. If you know what's it's like to sleep under the stars at night, you'll know that, when we are normally asleep, a mysterious world awakens in the solitude and silence. It's the time the springs babble more clearly, and the ponds light up their will o' the wisps.

All mountain spirits roam freely about, and there are rustlings in the air, imperceptible sounds, that might be branches thickening or gra.s.s growing. Day-time is for everyday living things; night-time is for strange, unknown things. If you're not used to it, it can terrify you.... So it was with mademoiselle, who was all of a shiver, and clung to me very tightly at the slightest noise. Once, a long gloomy cry, from the darkest of the ponds, rose and fell in intensity as it came towards us. At the same time, a shooting star flashed above our heads going in the same direction, as if the moan we had just heard was carrying a light.

--What's that? Stephanette asked me in a whisper.

--A soul entering heaven, my Lady; and I crossed myself.

She did the same, but stayed looking at the heavens in rapt awe. Then she said to me:

--Is it true then, that you shepherds are magicians?

--No, no, mademoiselle, but here we live closer to the stars, and we know more about what happens up there than people who live in the plains.

She kept looking at the stars, her head on her hands, wrapped in the sheepskin like a small heavenly shepherd:

--How many there are! How beautiful! I have never seen so many. Do you know their names, shepherd?

--Of course, lady. There you are! Just above our heads, that's the Milky Way. Further on you have the Great Bear. And so, he described to her in great detail, some of the magic of the star-filled panoply....

--One of the stars, which the shepherds name, Maguelonne, I said, chases Saturn and marries him every seven years.

--What, shepherd! Are there star marriages, then?

--Oh yes, my Lady.

I was trying to explain to her what these marriages were about, when I felt something cool and fine on my shoulder. It was her head, heavy with sleep, placed on me with just a delightful brush of her ribbons, lace, and dark tresses. She stayed just like that, unmoving, right until the stars faded in the coming daylight. As for me, I watched her sleeping, being somewhat troubled in my soul, but that clear night, which had only ever given me beautiful thoughts, had kept me in an innocent frame of mind. The stars all around us continued their stately, silent journey like a great docile flock in the sky. At times, I imagined that one of these stars, the finest one, the most brilliant, having lost its way, had come to settle, gently, on my shoulder, to sleep....

THE ARLESIENNE

As you go down to the village from the windmill, the road pa.s.ses a farm situated behind a large courtyard planted with tall Mediterranean nettle trees. It's a typical house of a Provencal tenant farmer with its red tiles, large brown facade, and haphazardly placed doors and windows. It has a weather-c.o.c.k right on top of the loft, and a pulley to hoist hay, with a few tufts of old hay sticking out....

What was it about this particular house that struck me? Why did the closed gate freeze my blood? I don't know; but I do know that the house gave me the shivers. It was choked by an eerie silence. No dogs barked.

Guinea fowl scattered silently. Nothing was heard from inside the grounds, not even the ubiquitous mule's bell.... Were it not for white curtains at the windows and smoke rising from the roof, the place could have been deserted.

Yesterday, around midday, I was walking back from the village, by the walls of the farm in the shade of the old nettle trees, when I saw some farm-hands quietly finishing loading a hay wain on the road in front of the farm. The gate had been left open and discovered a tall, white-haired, old man at the back of the yard, with his elbows on a large stone table, and his head in his hands. He was wearing an ill-fitting jacket and tattered trousers.... The sight of him stopped me in my tracks. One of the men whispered, almost inaudibly, to me:

--Sush. It's the Master. He's been like that since his son's death.

At that moment a woman and a small boy, both dressed in black and accompanied by fat and sun-tanned villagers, pa.s.sed near us and went into the farm.

The man went on:

--... The lady and the youngest, Cadet, are coming back from the ma.s.s.

Every day it's the same thing since the eldest killed himself. Oh, monsieur, what a tragedy. The father still goes round in his mourning weeds, nothing will stop him.... Gee-up!

The wagon lurched ready to go, but I still wanted to know more, so I asked the driver if I could sit with him, and it was up there in the hay, that I learned all about the tragic story of young Jan.

Jan was an admirable countryman of twenty, as well-behaved as a girl, well-built and open-hearted. He was very handsome and so caught the eye of lots of women, but he had eyes for only one--a pet.i.te girl from Arles, velvet and lace vision, whom he had once met in the town's main square. This wasn't well received at first in the farm. The girl was known as a flirt, and her parents weren't local people. But Jan wanted her, whatever the cost. He said:

--I will die if I don't have her. And so, it just had to be. The marriage was duly arranged to take place after the harvest.

One Sunday evening, the family were just finishing dinner in the courtyard. It was almost a wedding feast. The fiancee was not there, but her health and well-being were toasted throughout the meal.... A man appeared unexpectedly at the door, and stuttered a request to speak to Esteve, the master of the house, alone. Esteve got up and went out onto the road.

--Monsieur, the man said, you are about to marry your boy off to a woman who is a b.i.t.c.h, and has been my mistress for two years. I have proof of what I say; here are some of her letters!... Her parents know all about it and have promised her to me, but since your son took an interest in her, neither she nor they want anything to do with me....

And yet I would have thought that after what has happened, she couldn't in all conscience marry anyone else.

--I see, said Master Esteve after scanning the letters; come in; have a gla.s.s of Muscat.

The man replied:

--Thanks, but I am too upset for company.

And he went away.

The father went back in, seemingly unaffected, and retook his place at the table where the meal was rounded off quite amiably.

That evening, Master Esteve went out into the fields with his son. They stayed outside some time, and when they did return the mother was waiting up for them.

--Wife, said the farmer bringing their son to her, hug him, he's very unhappy....

Jan didn't mention the Arlesienne ever again. He still loved her though, only more so, now he knew that she was in the arms of someone else. The trouble was that he was too proud to say so, and that's what killed the poor boy. Sometimes, he would spend entire days alone, huddled in a corner, motionless. At other times, angry, he would set himself to work on the farm, and, on his own, get through the work of ten men. When evening came, he would set out for Arles, and walk expectantly until he saw the town's few steeples appearing in the sunset. Then he turned round and went home. He never went any closer than that.

The people in the farm didn't know what to do, seeing him always sad and lonely. They feared the worst. Once, during a meal, his mother, her eyes welling with tears, said to him:

--Alright, listen Jan, if you really want her, we will let you take her....

The father, blushing with shame, lowered his head....

Jan shook his head and left....

From that day onwards, Jan changed his ways, affecting cheerfulness all the time to rea.s.sure his parents. He was seen again at b.a.l.l.s, cabarets, and branding fetes. At the celebrations at the Fonvieille fete, he actually led the farandole.

His father said: "He's got over it." His mother, however, still had her fears and kept an eye on her boy more than ever.... Jan slept in the same room as Cadet, close to the silkworms' building. The poor mother even made up her bed in the next room to theirs ... explaining by saying that the silkworms would need attention during the night.