Letters From My Windmill by Alphonse Daudet (korean novels in english TXT) 📕

yawning gate, like a hugeoven door. What a fantastic sight, my children! No one asked my name,even there at the reception area. I went through the cavernous door inbatches, my brothers, just like you sinners as you go to the cabaret onSunday night.

"I was sweating profusely, and yet frozen to the spot, I was tremblingfearfully. My hair stood on end. I smelt burning, roasting flesh,something like the smell that spread around Cucugnan when Eli, themarshal, burned the hoof of an old ass while shoeing it. I couldn'tbreathe in that foetid, burning air; I heard a frightful clamour. Therewas moaning, howling, cursing.

"—You there! Are you coming in, or are you staying outside? scorned ahorned devil, prodding me with his fork.

"—Me? I'm not going in. I am a friend of Almighty God.

"—So, you're a friend of God…. Eh! You damned fool! What are youdoing here?…

"—I have come…. Oh! don't bother me, I can hardly stand up…. Ihave come … I have come from a far away … to humbly ask … if …if, by any chance, you have someone here from Cucugnan….

"—Oh! God's teeth! you're playing the idiot, you; it's as though youdidn't know that the whole of Cucugnan is here. Well, ugly crow, watchand you will see how things are here with your preciousCucugnanians…."

* * * * *

"And I saw, in the middle of a terrible, flaming vortex of flame:

"The lanky Coq-Galine—you all knew him, my brothers—Coq-Galine, whowas regularly drunk, and so often knocked ten bells out of his poorClairon.

"I saw Catarinet … that little vixen … with her nose in the air …who slept alone in the barn…. You remember that, you rascals!…But let's move on, I've said too much already.

"I saw Pascal Doigt-de-Poix, who made his olive oil—with monsieur

Julien's olives!

"I saw Babet the gleaner, who, as she gleaned, grabbed handfuls fromthe stacks to make up her quota!

"I saw Master Grapasi, who oiled his wheelbarrow rather a lot, so asnot to be heard!

"And Dauphine, who greatly overcharged for water from her wells.

"And le Tortillard, who, when he met me carrying the Good Lord, rushedaway, with his biretta perched on his head and his pipe stuck in hismouth … as proud as Lucifer … as though he had come across a mangydog.

"And Coulau with his Zette, and Jacques, and Pierre, and Toni…."

* * * * *

Much moved and ashen with fear, the congregation whimpered, whileimagining their fathers, and their mothers and their grandmothers andtheir sisters, when hell's gates were opened….

—Your feelings don't deceive you, brothers, the good abbot continued,you sense that this can't go on. I am responsible for your souls, and Ido want to save you from the abyss towards which you are rushinghelter-skelter and head first.

"Tomorrow, at the latest, my task begins. And the work will not be invain! This is how I am going to go about it. For it to come out well,everything must be done in an orderly way. We will proceed step bystep, like at Jonquières when there's a dance.

"Tomorrow, Monday. I will give confession to the old men and women.

Nothing much there.

"Tuesday. The children. I'll soon have done.

"Wednesday. The young men and women. That might take a long time.

"Thursday. The men. We'd better cut that short.

"Friday. The women. I will tell them, not to build up their parts!

"Saturday. The miller. A day mightn't be enough for him.

"And, if we've finished by Sunday, we'll have done very well.

"Look, my children, when wheat is ripe, it must be harvested, when thewine is drawn, it must be drunk. We've had enough of dirty washing,what matters now is to wash it, and to wash it well.

"May you all receive God's loving grace. Amen!"

* * * * *

He was as good as his word. The washing was duly done.

From that memorable Sunday, the sweet smell of Cucugnanian virtue washeady for many kilometres around.

And the good priest, Monsieur Martin, happy and full of joy, dreamt onenight that he was followed by all his flock, as he ascended in acandle-lit, resplendent procession, clouded in fragrant incense, withchoir boys chanting the Te Deum. They were all following the light tothe City of God.

There you are; the story of the priest of Cucugnan, as I was told bythe great colloquial writer Roumanille, who had it himself from someother good fellow.

THE OLD FOLKS

—A letter, Father Azan?

—Yes, monsieur…. It's from Paris.

The good Father Azan was so proud that it came from Paris. Not methough. A little bird told me that this unexpected early-morningletter, which had just fallen into my lap, was going to cost me therest of the day. I was not wrong, as you will see.

I must ask you for a favour, friend. I want you to lock up yourwindmill for the day and go directly to Eyguières. Eyguières is a largemarket town a few kilometres from here—an easy walk. When you getthere, ask for the convent of the orphans. The first house after theconvent is a single storey house with grey shutters and a smallback-garden. Don't knock, just go in—the door is always open—andshout at the top of your voice: "Hello, folks! I'm Maurice's friend."You will then see two very old folks, hold out their arms to you fromthe depths of their large armchairs. Give them a heartfelt hug from meas if they were your own. Then, you might like to talk to them. Theywill be very boring about me, though, and tell you a thousand and onetales—but do listen respectfully—no laughing. You won't laugh willyou?… They are my grandparents and I am everything in the world tothem, but they haven't seen me for ten long years. I can't help it.Paris keeps me busy; and they are so old, so that even if they tried tovisit me they couldn't make it. Fortunately, you will be there forthem, my dear miller, and when you embrace them they will feel almostas if I were there. I have often mentioned you by name, and our specialfriendship which….

To hell with that sort of friend! It was fine weather, but