by George Sand
despair, despair crept into me like a venom. I wanted to interrupt her, the idea of her awful smile chained my tongue. I wanted to take her, the audacity of her contemplative gaze paralyzed me in my place. I did not have anymore that a thought, that a need, that an insurmountable temptation: it was to run away, it was to go to pray in the chapel, it was to escape this danger that I could not turn away from him and who was invading me. So he begged me to leave him and I left him mechanically, happy to escape my suffering and go and take refuge at the foot of Christ. I took too much care of myself; I forgot too much the guard of the sinner that God had entrusted to me. Instead of taking the sheep lost on my shoulders, I was afraid of loneliness, of the night and devouring wolves. I returned alone to the fold; bad pastor, I abandoned the lost sheep; and when I come back I couldn't find it anymore. Satan had removed his prey. Evil spirit had drawn this victim into the abyss of eternal perdition.
- But what ! where is the sinner? cried the prior, discovering his white head with vivacity. What do you know about her dead?
- I found this body in the grass this morning where the soul no longer resides; I have nothing more to do, nothing to hope for for Sténio. Order me a harsh penance, father, so let me go and fulfill it and wash my soul.
- Tell me about Sténio! cried the prior severely.
Forget yourself a little. Is your soul more precious than hers, so that we would abandon her thus?
Let's start by praying for the sinner that God chastised, we Page 285
will then see to purify you. Where is the youngster's body
man? Have you recited the psalms on his body deadly? Have you sprinkled it with purifying water? The Have take you to the door of the chapel? Did you say to Chapter to come together? The sun is already high in the sky, what have you done since getting up?
- Nothing, said the dismayed monk, I lost the feeling of existence; and when I came back to myself I says I was lost.
- And Sténio, Sténio? cried the old man.
- Sténio, resumed the monk, is it not lost without return?
Do we have the right to pray for him? Will God revoke for him his immutable stops? Did he not die from the death of peephole Iscariote?
- Of what death? said the horrified prior. Suicide?
"Suicide," replied Magnus in a hollow voice.
The old prior fell back on his oak armchair, joining his yellow and wrinkled hands in a feeling inexpressible horror and dismay. Then, turning towards Magnus, he chastised him warmly.
"Such a catastrophe happened almost before your eyes.
Such a scandal was accomplished in the enclosure devoted to worship, and you didn't prevent it! and you went to pray like Marie, when it was necessary to act like Marthe! You have been raising your forehead in the temple, like the Pharisee! You said, "Look at me and bless me, my God, for I am a holy priest and this godless who dies there can happen of you and me! "You have been dreaming and sleeping, monk fool, selfish and cowardly man, when you had to tie yourself up in the footsteps of this unhappy man, throw you at his feet, drag you in the dust, use tears, threats,
prayers and even strength to prevent him from consuming his awful sacrifice! Instead of fleeing from the sinner as an object
horror and scandal, should we not kiss his knees and call him my son and my brother, to soften his heart and him to take courage, if only for one day, a day that would perhaps enough to save him? Does the doctor desert the Page 286
bedside of the patient in fear of contagion? The Samaritan turned away in disgust when he saw the wound hideous of the Jew? No, he approached it without fear, he poured it the balm, he took it on his mount and saved it. And you, for save your soul you lost the opportunity to bring back the prodigal son in the father's arms: it's you, it's you, soul narrow and hard, which will shiver with terror when God cries out to middle of your sleepless nights: "Cain, what did you do with your brother? "
- Enough, enough! my father, said the monk, falling on the pane and dragging his beard in the dust; save my brain which breaks, spare my reason which goes astray…
Come, he cried, clinging to the prior's robe, come with me pray on his body, come and pronounce the words that untie, come and touch the hyssop that washes and whitens, come say the exorcisms that break the pride of Satan, come pour the holy oil which removes all the defilements of life… ”
The prior, touched by his pain, got up sad and unresolved.
"Are you sure he killed himself?"
he said hesitantly. Is it not by chance, or (let's say better) of a celestial severity that we are not allowed to interpret and at the end of which his soul will have found the sorry ? What do we know? He may have been mistaken ...
darkness of the night… an accident can happen… Speak then, my son, do you have any evidence of suicide? "
Magnus hesitated; he wanted to say no; he hoped
deceive the clairvoyance of God and, by means of the sacraments of the Church, send to heaven this soul condemned by the Church, but he did not dare. He confessed, with a shudder, the whole truth he reported the words written on the sand: "Magnus, go and say to Trenmor that he will find me here "
"It is therefore too true!" said the prior, letting roll tears on his white beard; there is no way to escape this fatal light. Poor child! My God, your justice is severe and your anger is terrible!… Come on, Magnus, added the old man after a moment of silence, close the doors from the convent and pray to some lumberjack or some shepherd of Page 287
to give burial to this corpse. The Church defends us from him open the doors of the temple and bury it in the holy land ”…
This decision frightened Magnus more than anything else. He hit her head violently on the pavement and his blood ran down his cheek livid without him noticing.
"Come on, my son," said the prior, lifting him up, take courage, let us obey the holy Church, but let us hope. God is great, God is good; no one has probed the treasures of his mercy. Besides, we are weak men
and limited minds. Let's obey the letter and don't question not the spirit of sacred laws. No man, even the head of the Church has no right to condemn another man irrevocably. The sinner's agony may have been long. In se struggling against the approaches of death, he was able to be enlightened of a sudden light. He was able to repent and make his voice heard a prayer so fervent and so pure that it reconciled it with the Lord. It is not the sacrament which absolves, it is the contrition, you know; for a moment of this sincere contrition and deep can be worth a lifetime of penance. Pray and
let us be humble of heart. In the youth of Sténio, the virtues have been sublime, perhaps, to wash away all the inequities of the future and, in our past life, there may be such defilement that all abstentions from the present and from the future will find it difficult to absolve them. Come on, son, if the rule forbids me to admit this corpse in the convent and to accompany him to the cemetery with the ceremonies of worship, to the less the Church allows me to license you particular: it is to go watch with the body and accompany him to his last home, doing such pray that your charity will dictate to you, provided it is not in accordance with the rite consecrated for Christian burials.
Come on, it's your duty; it's the only way to fix it, as much as it is within you, the evil that you did not know avoid. It is up to you to obtain mercy for him and for you.
I will pray on my side, we will all pray, not in choir and in the sanctuary, but everyone in our cell and in the fervor of our souls. "
The unfortunate monk returned to Sténio. Shepherds had placed him out of the sun, at the entrance of a cave where the Page 288
women were burning cedar resin and branches of juniper. These pious mountaineers were waiting for Magnus came back to order them to take him to the convent and they had placed it on a stretcher made with more art and care than the first. They had intertwined fir branches and cypress trees with their perennial branches, which formed corpse a bed of dark greenery. Children had it dotted with aromatic herbs and the women had brought him to forehea
d a crown of these white star flowers that grow in wet meadows. White bindweed and clematis,
who climbed along the sides of the rock, hung the vault in gracious and wild festoons. This funeral bed, if cool, if rustic, topped with a canopy of flowers and bathed in sweetest fragrance, was worthy to protect the last sleep of a young and beautiful poet asleep in the Lord.
The mountaineers knelt on seeing the priest kneel; women, whose numbers had grown
considerably since morning, began to shell their rosary; all were preparing to follow the monk and the corpse to the gate of the Camaldules, and back to the lake to attend, on the other side, the funeral of the cemetery.
But when after a long wait they see the sun descend towards the horizon without Magnus telling them to remove the body, without the monks, dressed in their black coats covered with bones and tears, come to meet him, they wondered and ventured to question him. Magnus them looked astray, tried to answer them and stammered uncertain words. So seeing how much pain
had disturbed him and fearing to afflict him more by pressing questions, one of the oldest loggers in the valley decided to go to the convent with his sons and ask orders to the prior.
After an hour the lumberjack returned; it was silent, sad and collected. He dared not speak in front of Magnus and, as everyone looked at him, he motioned to his companions to follow him aside. All those around the corpse, carried away by curiosity, quietly moved away and the joined at some distance. There they learned with surprise, Page 289
with terror, the suicide of Sténio and the refusal of the prior of bury him in the holy land.
If the prior had needed all the firmness of a spirit generous, all the warmth of an indulgent soul, so as not to to despair of the salvation of Sténio, a fortiori these men simple and limited were they terrified of a condemned crime so severely in Catholic beliefs. The old
women were the first to curse him. " He killed himself, the impious! they cried; what crime had he committed?
He doesn't deserve our prayers; the prior refuses him a tomb in consecrated land. He must have done something abominable, because the prior is so forgiving and so holy! He had a shameful wound to the heart, this man who despaired of sorry and who has done himself justice; do not pity him; besides, it is forbidden to pray for the damned. Let's go-we ; let the monk do his job; it's up to him keep overnight. It has the power to pronounce the exorcisms; if the demon comes to claim its prey, it conjure. Let's go. "
The frightened young girls were not asked to follow their mothers and more than one, going back to her remains, thought he saw a white figure pass through depths of the copse and hear on the wet grass of the evening dew the wandering steps of a plaintive shadow which murmured sadly, "Turn away, young girl, and see my livid face. I am the soul of a sinner and I go to judgment. Pray for me. "They hurried on and came thrilling and pale to the door of their chalets; But in the evening while falling asleep, I don't know what weak voice and mysterious repeated at their bedside: "Pray for me. "
The shepherds, accustomed to night watches and loneliness woods, were less accessible to these terrors superstitious. Some went to join Magnus and resolved to keep the dead man with him. They planted four
corners of the stretcher with large resinous fir torches and unfold their goat skin gowns, to protect themselves from the cold of the night. But when the torches were lit, they began to project gleams of light from a livid red. The wind, which stirred them, passed light Page 290
claims on that face almost to dissolve and, by moments, the movement of the flame seemed to communicate features and members of Sténio. It seemed to them that opened his eyes, that he waved a convulsive hand, that he was going get up ; fear seized them and, without daring to admit mutually their childishness, they tacitly adopted the advice unanimously to withdraw. The monk, whose presence had them a instant reassured, began to frighten them more than the dead himself. His stillness, his silence, his pallor and I don't know what dark and terrible in the creasing of his forehead bald and shiny gave him the appearance of a spirit of darkness more than a man. They thought the demon could have take this form to damn the young man, for the rush into the lake and he was there now, watching over his prey, waiting for the hour of midnight, where the horrible mysteries of the Sabbath were being fulfilled.
The bravest of them offered to return on
the next day, at dawn, to dig the pit and descend it corpse. "It is very useless," replied one of the most dismayed, and that answer was understood. They looked at each other silence; their pallor frightened them mutually. They went down towards the valley and parted with a shaky step, ready to move take each other for specters.
6
Lelia
Lélia and Trenmor were approaching the valley. The day lowered, they pressed the horses and the guides. They wanted arrive before dark; the fast team flew in the dust and the plains disappeared behind them, like clouds blown away by the wind. Suddenly a horse fell; the car rolled over him and overturned violently. Trenmor was Page 291
seriously injured. Lélia was preserved from all evil. God, maybe to be, had his designs.
Trenmor was carried to a house near the road; we lavished prompt help on him. As soon as he regained use of his senses and that his wound had been healed, he took Lélia's hand.
"Go away, sister," he said, "don't waste an hour, moment. The last day is nearing its end; if any of we weren't at the Camaldules tonight, who knows the thoughts of Sténio? Go to our child. Leave me here; i can me pass from you; you will meet me there tomorrow, more late, when you can; it's not about me. Go. "
Lélia did not hesitate. The car was broken; she had brought a horse, mounted it in a hurry and soon disappeared in the dust from the horizon.
The sun was down when she reached the level ground of the Camaldolese valley. His people were far behind she. His smoking horse stumbled from time to time in the coppice brambles; panting, messy hair, she pressed without pity, she did not stop at any obstacle; she crossed the alleged ford of rivers at random, crossed the bushes instead of turning them and didn't even look behind her the dangers she had just faced with madness with sublime confidence.
Uncertain at the entrance to a clearing cut off from two roads
similar, she was forced to stop to ask a lumberjack the way to the convent.
"Over here," said the woodcutter, pointing to the right; but if you intend to enter the monastery this evening, I advise you to have an order from the pope. The gates are closed; the bells did not ring all day. The prior is closed in his cell ; all the monks, in retreat; we don't talk to anyone.
The angel of death made a cross this night on the door. "
Lélia, terrified, questioned the woodcutter. She learned the death of Sténio; she tried to doubt and hope for it.
A group of mountaineers came to confirm the words of the first. Lélia fell without movement in their arms; they Page 292
carried him to their cabin.
Magnus, left alone by the corpse, had not noticed of the desertion of the shepherds. He was still on his knees, but he did not pray, he did not think: his strength was broken. He ... not felt his existence only by the acute suffering of his forehead that he had shaken and almost smashed on the pavement of the cell of the prior. This physical concussion, joined to the emotions awful of his soul, had finished plunging him into a sagging that looked like imbecility.
Gradually the pains he felt in the skull became so violent, that he put his hand there. A livid blood stuck his hair. He looked at his red hand without understanding that it was bloody. Only that feeling of warmth
wet and that smell of blood produced a kind of contraction in the muscles of his fingers and dilate his nostrils, as if intoxicated by wine or the senses. Blade was numb, maybe dead. The grief, ferocious and greedy, who hides under the monk's hair, woke up with
his carnivorous instinct and his wild appetite for pleasure. He opened glassy eyes like those of a corpse and leaps like if galvanism had struck him.
But seeing
before him this pale figure of Sténio, who slept the sleep of the angels, he stopped, smiled frightfully to his white shroud and to his crown of flowers and murmured in an emotional voice: "O woman! oh beauty!… ”
Then he took the hand of the corpse and the cold of death subsided his delirium and chased away the deceptive illusions of fever. he recognized that this was not a sleeping woman, but a man lying on the coffin, a man he blamed himself for the loss.
He looked around and, seeing nothing but the sides black from the rock where the torch flame flickered, not hearing nothing but the wind roaring in the larches, he felt everything the dread of loneliness, all the terrors of the night fall on his skull like a mountain of ice.
He thought he saw something moving and crawling on the rock beside him. He closed his eyes so as not to see him any more; he Page 293
reopened them and looked involuntarily. He saw a figure frightening who stood motionless and black at his side. He la looked for almost an hour, without daring to make a movement, holding his breath for fear of arousing attention of this ghost, ready to get up and walk towards him. The resin torch, which threw the profile of Magnus on the wall of the cave, went out and the ghost disappeared without the monk having understood that it was his shadow.
Light steps touched the bushes of the hill.
Perhaps it was a chamois who was curiously approaching torches. Magnus signed and glanced shaky at
the path that led to the valley. He thought he saw a woman white, a wandering woman and alone in the night. Longed for anxious made his heart leap violently; he got up ready to run towards her, foolish fear held him back. It was a specter who came to call Sténio, a shadow emerging from the sepulcher for howl in the darkness. He buried his face in his hands, wrapped his head in his hood and rolled himself in a corner, decided to see nothing, to hear nothing.