The Corsican Woman

by Madge Swindells

  Part Five

  1959-1961

  Chapter 67

  August, 1959

  A glorious landscape — dew-fresh air scented with summer’s sweet herbs: rosemary blooming in a dozen shades of blue; myrtle covered with snow-white flowers. Into it ran my favourite friend. She was on the way home from school, I knew. She was singing, and every now and then she gave a little skip. Her red hair glinted in the sun, and her blue dress billowed in the breeze. At almost fifteen, Ursuline was gawky and tall. She showed promise of beauty, but she was still overly thin, with an elfin look about her.

  ‘How was school?’ I asked.

  ‘Just divine,’ she answered. ‘Even Sister Monica’s sarcasm was bearable today. Guess what?’ Her eyes were sparkling with joy. She fumbled into her pocket and produced the outside shell of a chestnut. Delving into it with her index finger and thumb, she produced a ring. It was a particularly ugly signet ring.

  ‘It’s Raoul’s,’ she said. ‘He gave it to me.’ Raoul was the grandson of her grandfather’s friend, she explained.

  I examined it with feigned interest. I couldn’t help noticing that when Ursuline spoke of Raoul her skin began to glow, her eyes sparkled, and for no good reason she broke into giggles.

  Did I realize that most of the girls in her class were already promised? she wanted to know. They would marry as soon as they left school.

  ‘I can’t think of anything more terrible, for them or for you,’ I told her. She wasn’t interested in my opinion. She just wanted a listener. She babbled on about school and the future of the girls in her class. Her world! I’d noticed that over the past two years she had slowly become tolerated. I wasn’t really listening to her now. I was thinking about her prospects. They didn’t look too good. Perhaps I should try to help. It was the first time I’d thought about it. But she deserved more than Taita could offer.

  All the Rocca brains were wasted, I thought sadly. Jules had left school and was halfheartedly helping on the land. Most of his time was lavished on the hotheaded subversive youth movement he had formed. Rocca was a bandit. Maria was half crazy, and Sybilia’s life had been thrown away. No doubt Ursuline would stay home and help her mother around the house. Suddenly I realized that the torrent of words had ceased. Ursuline’s grave eyes were fixed on me. Some sort of a response was necessary.

  ‘What was that you said?’ I queried.

  ‘Sometimes Mother is so unapproachable. Please talk to her about it,’ she said.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Oh, talk about the absentminded professor. I just said! I’m engaged. Raoul and I want to get married.’

  ‘Oh, hell, Ursuline. Don’t talk such a lot of nonsense,’ I said.

  ‘It’s not nonsense. I told you most of the girls in my class are “promised”. They’ll be married next year. I’ve always liked Raoul best, and he loves me.’

  ‘Promised! What a stupid, old-fashioned idea,’ I fumed. ‘Besides, you’re at least a year younger than the rest of them.’

  Ursuline put her arms around me. She was trying to get her own way. ‘But this time it’s different. Jock, listen to me,’ she said, putting one finger over my lips. ‘Raoul and I have already decided.’

  Ursuline was being a fool. She must have a career. All Sybilia’s frustrated ambitions and longings were to be fulfilled by her daughter, I knew. She would never allow her to marry in Taita, especially at this age.

  ‘Jock, listen to me. Please talk to Mother,’ Ursuline persisted.

  ‘Why should I? I’m entirely against this ridiculous idea. And your mother will be very upset.’

  ‘Why? Is it a crime to choose my own future? It’s my life, isn’t it? Somehow I’m going to show you and Mother that I have a mind of my own.'

  It was not a subject that would commend me to Sybilia. Finally I decided that this was one of the many problems Father Andrews was better qualified to handle.

  Chapter 68

  How could I talk to Sybilia about something so intensely personal? I was a stranger, even if I was her daughter’s confidant. Besides, I couldn’t see much hope for Ursuline. Instead I explained the problem to Father Andrews, leaving him to cope as best he could.

  The next morning a choirboy brought me a message from the priest. A small talk in my garden — at once, if possible, he had written. I hurried down from my dig, feeling cross.

  As I had suspected, he intended that I should be present when he broached the subject with Sybilia. ‘What has all this to do with me?’ I said, feeling exasperated.

  ‘Nothing at all, except that you told me you could arrange a scholarship for Ursuline, and I want you to repeat the offer. Besides, it was you Ursuline went to, not me. She obviously trusts you.’

  Not long afterward we saw Sybilia outside the gate looking apprehensive.

  ‘The poor girl,’ Father Andrews murmured.

  ‘You don’t need me,’ I whispered uncomfortably.

  Sybilia pushed the gate open. ‘Oh, my,' she exclaimed when she saw the half an acre of well-tended vegetables. Lettuces, tomatoes, peas, and flowers grew in straight rows, with water sprayed from long hoses. The priest was wearing old dungarees, and he was raking leaves. He did not look much like a priest. Perhaps that was his intention.

  ‘I had no idea… so well hidden.' She smiled shyly at Father Andrews. Then she saw me, and her smile faded.

  ‘My secret vice,’ the priest said.

  ‘Vice?’

  ‘Well, pride is a vice? I’m an efficient gardener, and I wouldn’t like to put you Taitans to shame.’

  She laughed uneasily.

  ‘Well, Sybilia,’ he said, indicating the bench, ‘did you know that Ursuline has been seeing Raoul Pascal secretly?’ She nodded.

  in that case, perhaps you also know that they've exchanged rings. A fine situation! They seem to be very headstrong — the pair of them.'

  She gasped, and clutched her handkerchief over her mouth. ‘How could she be such a fool?’

  ‘Well, I'm not breaking any trust, my dear. Ursuline asked Jock to speak to you. He, being unwilling to do that, fetched me to deputize.'

  I scowled at the priest, it’s just that Ursuline trusts me,' I said lamely. ‘But I feel awkward interfering.’

  She shot a contemptuous glance my way.

  The priest watched Sybilia anxiously. ‘Ursuline wants you to speak to Raoul Pascal’s parents.’ He gave an unhappy laugh. ‘Now tell me, Sybilia, why didn’t you explain these problems to her before.’

  ‘She’s only fifteen,’ Sybilia said.

  ‘You always hide away from the things you can’t face up to. You always have. At sixteen most of her class will get married.’

  ‘Yes,’ Sybilia said.

  ‘Well, it’s not the job of the village priest to act as a marriage broker, but I’ll speak to the Pascals. I can but try."What’s the point?’ Sybilia said bitterly. ‘Xavier won’t give her a dowry. He’s made that clear enough. My land… Maria’s land… Rocca controls everything. He won’t part with an acre. He never forgave me. Besides, she’s not his kin.’

  ‘Well, times are changing. Perhaps the Pascals will take an enlightened view and favour young love. They’re rich enough. In any event, I’ll throw out a couple of hints, and we’ll see.’

  ‘I want her to be a teacher. I’ve always wanted that.’

  ‘After two years of formal schooling?’ I said. ‘She needs much more. Let her go to college. As a matter of fact, I’ve managed to obtain a scholarship for her.’

  ‘We both know who will be financing it. I don’t want to resurrect old arguments,' she said bitterly.

  I shrugged and glanced at the priest.

  ‘Evidently Ursuline has no such ambitions.’ The priest’s voice was bitingly cool. ‘But what if she should change her mind? Would you be able to pay for her education?’

  ‘No,’ Sybilia said hopelessly. ‘I’ve been saving for years. A few eggs here, a chicken or two. I can manage a part of it. Maybe in a year or so… Oh, d
ear God,’ she sighed. ‘There can’t be anything more soul-destroying than failing your children.’

  ‘Well, I have an idea, but let’s leave it until I’ve spoken to Raoul’s family.’

  ‘What’s the use? But thank you anyway.’ Sybilia hurried away.

  ‘There, I warned you,’ I said to him. ‘It would have been far better if I had not been here. I should have kept out of this.'

  ‘Yes, you’re right. I made a mistake,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  There wasn’t much I could say after that apology.

  ‘All the same,’ Father Andrews grumbled, half to himself, ‘I don’t understand why two intelligent adults start acting like children the moment they get together.’

  It fell to me to tell Ursuline the facts of Taitan village life. It wasn’t planned. It just happened that way.

  Father Andrews saw the Pascal family. They were appalled with the suggestion and terrified at the thought of a scandal, he told me rather sadly. For some time they had been thinking of marrying their son to Castelli’s youngest daughter. Now they decided to push ahead with all speed.

  The priest had seen Sybilia, and she was not the least surprised, he told me. They had asked Ursuline to be home at five that evening. The Rocca women and the priest would break the bad news to her and try to persuade her to enter a convent.

  Ursuline looked exhilarated when she arrived at my dig around lunchtime. Her eyes were shining, her cheeks were flushed, and I noticed belatedly that she was turning into a woman. She would be lovely, I thought with a pang. I produced a roll and sausage for her and listened while she told me her news.

  ‘This afternoon Father Andrews is coming to the house to talk to me. Mama will be there. And Maria.’She giggled. ‘I’m not supposed to know what it’s about, but I do.’

  She fumbled in her pocket and brought out a note. From the paper I could see that it had been smoothed and read and folded again many times. Yesterday Raoul had tossed it into her basket, she confided. It read:

  Father Andrews has been to see my parents. Grandfather is talking to me about my future this evening. Forever yours, Raoul.

  ‘Forever yours,’ she murmured. Her hand went up to her hair, which was hanging loosely over her shoulders. She pushed it back in a self-conscious, womanly gesture. Suddenly she reached forward and kissed me impulsively. ‘Oh, Jock, I’m so happy, I can’t sit still.’ She leaped up and prowled around the excavation. Every now and then she clasped her hands and bit her lip.

  ‘Ursuline, come and sit down,’ I said. So it was to be my lot to dampen that rapt expression. I felt like a heel. But how could I let her down?

  ‘Ursuline, you’ve always been a brave girl,’ I began, ‘but you’re in a singularly unfortunate position in that you don’t have a dowry.’

  ‘No dowry?’ Her eyes closed momentarily. ‘Does that matter?’ She searched my face for reassurance.

  ‘Yes, it matters,’ I said heavily. ‘If it were up to me, or your mother, you’d have a good dowry, but all the family’s land — all that your mother brought into the marriage, and Maria, too, come to that, is in your grandfather’s hands. He’ll not give you a dowry because, strictly speaking, you’re not his kin.’

  I couldn’t bear to look at her. Instead I gazed steadfastly at my feet. ‘As for me, I would willingly give you a dowry, but it would have to be in cash, not in land, since I don’t have any. Perhaps there’s some for sale. I could look around. I’ve done well this year.’ I felt so sad. At that moment I would have bought Taita for her, if I could.

  Ursuline crumpled onto a boulder and sat there with her chin in her hands. Obviously she had never given the matter of a dowry a thought. ‘Raoul loves me for myself,’ she said after a while.

  Should I carry on? It would be cruel to leave her hoping and worrying all day, I decided.

  ‘It’s not just a question of your dowry, Ursuline. Marriage in these parts is like a truce between clans. You have no father, therefore there’s no family. Family ties are of the utmost importance in Corsica. Personally I find it archaic. But quite frankly I can’t see you marrying anyone from these parts.’

  ‘Anyone?’ she cried. ‘I don't want anyone. It’s Raoul I love.’ She paused to gather her thoughts. ‘And Raoul?’ she said abruptly, turning away so that I would not see her tears. ‘What has Raoul to say about all this? He’s always known my situation?’

  ‘Raoul became engaged to Francois Castelli’s daughter last night.’

  ‘Impossible! He loves me. You ’re lying.’

  ‘You do have other alternatives,’ I went on, ignoring her. ‘If you were an American child, you’d be told not to be absurd. Thinking about marriage at fifteen years of age is crazy. However, I know the customs here are different. I’d hoped you’d go to college in America.’ Was it wrong to press my own ambitions for her?

  ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve succeeded in getting you a scholarship to my old school. Sybilia won’t hear of it, but I’ll work on her. Do you want to talk about it now or later, when you’ve recovered?’

  ‘I’ll never recover. This is all Mother’s fault. I’m to pay the price of her foolishness.’

  ‘Listen to me, Ursuline, and stop feeling sorry for yourself. If Raoul doesn’t want you without a dowry, then he’s not worth having. Father Andrews wants you to be a nun. You’ve been accepted as a novice by the Sacred Heart Convent, near Ajaccio. You could be trained as a teacher and sent out as a missionary. You may be sent to Africa, or the Far East. When they put this idea to you tonight, I want you to remember my alternative. Okay?'

  ‘Okay.’ She wiped her tears with the hem of her skirt and stood up. ‘Don’t worry. I will never be a nun,’ she said. ‘Oh, Jock, I know you’re trying your best. But Mother’s wicked. I’m the evidence of her shame, so she wants to get rid of me.’

  She stood up quickly, burst into tears, and ran down the hill. I called to her, but she kept going.

  Two weeks later, at eight in the morning, early in July, Raoul Pascal married Francois Castelli’s daughter. It was not a very good match, since Castelli was only a shoe-maker. However, his daughter brought a small piece of property to the marriage.

  ‘She’s ugly,’ Ursuline said, watching the ceremony through my binoculars. ‘She’s ugly and fat, and I hope he dies of misery.’

  ‘He won’t,’ I said, ‘but she might. Have you noticed what a bully his mother is? By tomorrow she’ll be the family servant. I wouldn’t wish Madame Pascal on my enemy.’ Ursuline began to giggle. The giggles became laughter. ‘Raoul looks so silly with that moustache he’s grown.’ She burst out laughing again. ‘Yes, you’re right Jock. I’m lucky to be free of Madame Pascal.’

  She spent the day helping me, and I thought she’d come through the crisis very well. But I was wrong. A month later she told me that she had joined Jules’s political group. They called it ‘Sword of the Nation’. She had taken their pledge, and she was going to dedicate her life to Corsica’s problems. ‘Far better to be a revolutionary than just an old maid,’ she told me. ‘Now I have a mission in life.’

  Over the next few weeks she learned to shoot, take photographs, and chum out leaflets on an old printing press. In her spare time she cooked and cleaned and carried provisions to the camp. Suddenly Ursuline had become a fierce patriot.

  I understood her motivation. Her Corsican birthright was beyond dispute. It was something real and believable, and it was hers, so she clung to it. No one could take that away from her.

  Chapter 69

  Local members and leaders of the National Front were holding a series of meetings in the village square. It was about the war and a certain Major Ernst Krag, who had commanded the German occupation troops. I was not entirely clear what it all meant. The words ‘honour’, ‘dignity of man’, ‘freedom’, and ‘revenge’ were repeated ad nauseam. The speeches were mainly in the local dialect, and everyone seemed to be voicing their opinions in turn.

  It was harvest time, but who cared? Corsican honour was
at stake… Shepherds, farmers, tradesmen, and woodcutters neglected their work. Everyone had something to say.

  In spite of almost total discord, there was at least one point of agreement: absolutely no one believed they should turn the other cheek. Something had to be done. But what? Some felt that Corsican justice was a matter of concern only to Corsicans. Others believed it was a matter of international concern. The dispute kept them arguing for two days and most of the night between. Finally it began to look as if those men with the greatest stamina would win the day.

  I listened in to the meetings from time to time, particularly in the evenings when I had nothing better to do. I was struck by the high standard of rhetoric in men who were mainly uneducated.

  Xavier Rocca craftily waited until everyone else had had their say before he set about winning their votes.

  ‘I’m a reasonable man,’ he began tentatively. ‘Aren’t we all? Let’s face it, none of us here believes in fairy stories. Yet I seem to have been listening to a few here these past days.’ He looked around contemptuously. ‘Here’s one I’ve been listening to: it’s about the possibility of the Western Allies restarting the war crime trials for the sake of a few dead Corsicans.

  ‘Well, my friends… if you kept up with the news, you’d know that the world is trying to forget about the war. We’re partners in the Common Market. It’s bad form to remember things people did all those years ago. Perhaps we should forget, too. Forget our people tortured to death; forget the insult to Corsica as the Boche defiled our island’s soil. Is that what you want? What is it to be? Justice? Or forgiveness?’

  ‘Justice,’ the assembly roared back.

  ‘Well, my friends, you don’t surprise me. After all, you’re Corsican, aren’t you? We’ve always taken responsibility for our own moral standards. Every Corsican householder has always been prepared to play the role of jury, judge and executioner in times of trouble. We know in our hearts what’s right and what’s wrong. We’ve never shirked our responsibilities.