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

certainlynot walking weather; too much sun and too much mistral, a typicalProvencal day to be sure. By the time this damned letter arrived, I hadalready decided on my bolt-hole for the day. It was to be in theshelter of two rocks, and I was looking forward to basking like alizard and soaking up the Provencal light as I listened to the pinessinging. Oh well, there was nothing else for it, I grumbled as I lockedup the windmill, and put the key under the cat-flap. Cane, pipe, and Iwas on my way.

I arrived at Eyguières at about two o'clock. The village was deserted;everybody was out in the fields. In the white dust-covered elms in thecourtyard, the cicadas were singing their hearts out, just like they doin the Crau plain. An ass was sunning itself in the town hall square,and a flock of pigeons were in the church fountain, but there nobody todirect me to the orphanage. Luckily, I came across an old fairysquatting and spinning her thread in a corner of her doorway; I toldher what I was looking for, and, so powerful was she, that as sheraised her distaff, the Convent of the Orphans appeared, as if bymagic, before me…. It was a big, black, bleak house, proudly boastingan old red sandstone cross with a short Latin inscription above itspointed door arch. I spotted a smaller house next door with greyshutters, and a back-garden…. I recognised it immediately and went inwithout knocking.

The long, cool, quiet entrance hall made a life-long impression on me;with its pink painted wall, and faded flowers and violins on thepanelling. I saw a small garden shaking about in the wind beyond alight coloured awning. I seemed to have come to the home of some sortof antediluvian bailiff…. At the end of the corridor on the left, theticking of a large clock could be heard through a half opened door, andthe voice of a school-age child, reading each syllable carefully. Th… en … Saint … I … re … naeus … cri … ed … I … am …the … wh … eat … of … the … Lord … I … mu … st … be… gro … und … by … the … tee … th … of … th … ese …a … ni … mals…. I went gently over to the door and looked in.

In the quiet, and half-light of the small room, there was an old manwith flushed cheeks, and wrinkled to the end of his finger tips. He wasfast asleep, slumped in an armchair, with his mouth open and his handson his knees. At his feet was a very young girl dressed all in blue—alarge cape and a small bonnet—the orphanage's uniform. She was readingthe life of St. Irenaeus from a book larger than herself…. Thiswonderful reading had a soporific effect on the whole household; theold man sleeping in his armchair, the flies on the ceiling, and eventhe caged canaries in the window. The big clock was quietly grindingaway. Nothing moved in the room, except from within a large band ofwhite light, which fell from between the closed shutters, which wasfull of sparkling movement and microscopic waltzes…. In the midst ofall this general stupor, the child continued her solemn reading: S …oon … two … lions … jum … ped … on … him … and … de …vour … ed … him…. Then I appeared…. The actual arrival of thelions in the room could not have caused more panic. It was a moment ofpure theatre! The tot screamed, the book fell, the canaries and fliesbestirred themselves, the clock chimed, and the old man sat up,startled. I was a little flustered myself, and froze at the doorsill,shouting as loud as I could:

—Hello, folks! I'm Maurice's friend.

Well! You should have seen the poor old soul come with open-arms to hugme, and shake my hand, and pace wildly round the room, going:

—My God! My God!…

His wrinkled face broke into deep creases of laughter. He flushed andstuttered:

—Oh, monsieur… Oh, monsieur!…

Then he went to the back of the room and called out for:

—Mamette!

A door opened; a mouse-like scurrying was heard in the passage … andthere she stood, Mamette, as pretty as a picture in her shell-likebonnet, her nun-like habit, and her embroidered hanky, which she heldin the respectful, old-fashioned way…. It was so touching; theylooked completely alike. With his hair done up and yellow shells, hecould have been another Mamette, except that the real one must havecried a lot in her life, as she was even more wrinkled than he. She,too, had a girl carer from the orphanage, a little nurse, dressed in ablue cape, who never left her side. To see these old folks, cared forby the orphans, was unimaginably moving.

Mamette began by addressing me rather too formerly, but the old fellowcut her off mid-stream:

—He's Maurice's friend….

The effect was immediate; she stood there, trembling, crying, andblushing even more than he was. That's old people for you! Only a dropof blood in their veins, but at the least emotion, it leaps to theirfaces….

—Quick, get a chair, said the old woman to her little companion.

—Open the blinds, cried the old man to his.

The couple took a hand each, and trotted me over to the window, whichthey opened wide to get a better look at me. Once they got back intotheir armchairs, I sat down between them on a folding stool, and withthe little blues stationed behind us, the grand interrogation began:

—How is he? What is he doing with himself? Why doesn't he come? Is hesettled in?…

And so on and so forth—for hours on end.

I was answering all their questions as best I could, filling in thedetails that I knew, shamelessly inventing those I didn't, without everadmitting that I hadn't noticed if his windows were well-fitting, orthe colour of his bedroom wallpaper.

—The bedroom wallpaper!… It's blue, madame, pale blue, with a floralpattern on it….

—Really? went the old lady fondly, and added turning to her husband:

"He's such a fine boy!"

—Oh yes, he's such a fine boy!