Letters From My Windmill (4 page)

Once she had taken the provisions out of the pannier, Stephanette began
to take an interest in everything. Hitching up her lovely Sunday skirt,
which otherwise might have got marked, she went into the compound, to
look at the place where I slept. The straw crib with its lambskin
cover, my long cape hanging on the wall, my shepherd's crook, and my
catapult; all these things fascinated her.

—So, this is where you live, my little shepherd? How tedious it must
be to be alone all the time. What do you do with yourself? What do you
think about?

I wanted to say, "About you, my lady," and I wouldn't have been lying,
but I was so greatly nonplussed that I couldn't find a single word by
way of a reply. Obviously, she picked this up, and certainly she would
now take some gentle malicious pleasure in turning the screw:

—What about your girlfriend, shepherd, doesn't she come up to see you
sometimes? Of course, it would have to be the fairy Esterelle, who only
runs at the top of the mountain, or the fabled, golden she-goat….

As she talked on, she seemed to me like the real fairy Esterelle. She
threw her head back with a cheeky laugh and hurried away, which made
her visit seem like a dream.

—Goodbye, shepherd.

—Bye, Bye, lady.

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 reassured her as best I could:

—The nights are short in July, my Lady. It's only going to seem like a
passing, 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 God 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 grass
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….

As you go down to the village from the windmill, the road passes 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 façade, and haphazardly placed doors and
windows. It has a weather-cock 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, passed near us and went
into the farm.

The man went on:

—… The lady and the youngest, Cadet, are coming back from the mass.
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 petite 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 fiancée 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 Estève, the master of the house, alone. Estève 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 bitch, 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 Estève after scanning the letters; come in; have a
glass 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 Estève 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 reassure his parents. He was seen again at balls, 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.

Then came the feast day of St. Eli, patron saint of farmers.

There were great celebrations in the farm…. There was plenty of
Château-Neuf for everybody and the sweet wine flowed in rivers. Then
there were crackers, and fireworks, and coloured lanterns all over the
nettle trees. Long live St. Eli! They all danced the farandole until
they dropped. Cadet scorched his new smock…. Even Jan looked content,
and actually asked his mother for a dance. She cried with joy.

At midnight they all went to bed; everybody was tired out. But Jan
himself didn't sleep. Cadet said later that he had been sobbing the
whole night. Oh, I tell you, he was well smitten that one….

* * * * *

The next morning the mother heard someone running across her sons'
bedroom. She felt a sort of presentiment:

—Jan, is that you?

Jan didn't reply, he was already on the stairs.

His mother got up at once:

—Jan, where are you going?

He went up into the loft, she followed him:

—In heavens name, son!

He shut and bolted the door:

—Jan, Jan, answer me. What are you doing?

Her old trembling hands felt for the latch…. A window opened; there
was the sound of a body hitting the courtyard slabs. Then … an awful
silence.

The poor lad had told himself: "I love her too much…. I want to end
it all…." Oh, what pitiful things we are! It's all too much; even
scorn can't kill love….

That morning, the village people wondered who could be howling like
that, down there by Estève's farm.