Letters From My Windmill Alphonse Daudet (top 10 ebook reader .txt) 📖

All the time I was speaking, they shook their heads at one another, andchuckled, and gave knowing winks and nods to each other, then the oldfellow drew close to me:

—Speak louder!… She's a bit hard of hearing.

And she said:

—Speak up, please!… He can't hear very well….

So, I raised my voice, which evinced a grateful smile, and as thesesmiles faded I could just make out a faint image of Maurice. I wasoverwhelmed to see it; a vague, veiled, yet evasive, vision, as if Ihad seen my friend himself smile back at me, but in the misty distance.

* * * * *

Suddenly, the old man sat up in his armchair:

—I'm wondering, Mamette, if perhaps he hasn't had any lunch.

Mamette, shocked, threw her hands in the air:

—Not eaten!… Good Lord!

I thought they were still on about Maurice, and I was about to reassurethem that their dear grandson always ate before midday, but it turnedout it was actually me they were concerned about. There was someconsternation when I admitted that nothing had passed my lips:

—Quick, lay the table, little blues! Put it in the middle of the room,use the Sunday-best table cloth, and the decorated plates. And doplease stop giggling so much and make haste….

Certainly, they did hurry, and the dinner was soon served up—threebroken plates later.

—There you are, a fine breakfast for you! said Mamette, urging me tothe table; "You will be dining alone, though, the rest of us havealready eaten this morning."

The poor old things! Whatever the hour, they would have always claimedthey'd already eaten.

All Mamette would have had for a breakfast, was a little bit of milk,some dates, and a tartlet—and that had to keep herself and hercanaries going for a least a week. And to think that it was I whofinished off their supplies!… Also, what indignation there was aroundat the table! The little blues, propped up on their elbows whispered toeach other. From inside their cage, the canaries seemed to be saying,"What sort of man would eat all our tartlet!"

In fact, I did finish it off—almost unconsciously—I was busy lookingaround the light and peaceful room, where the scent of antiques seemedto drift in the air…. There were two small beds in particular, that Icouldn't take my eyes off. I pictured the beds, almost as small as twocots, early in the morning when they are hidden under their greatfringed curtains. Three o'clock chimes; the time when all old peoplewake up:

—Are you asleep, Mamette?

—No, my dear.

—Isn't Maurice a fine boy?

—Oh, yes, a fine boy?

And I imagined a whole conversation in that vein, inspired by justlooking at the old folks' two little beds, laying side by side….

Meanwhile, quite a drama was taking place in front of the wardrobe atthe other side of the room. There was a jar of cherries in brandy inthe top drawer—waiting for Maurice for ten years—and which they nowwanted me to have. Despite Mamette's pleas, the old fellow had insistedon getting the cherries down himself, and stood on a chair to try toreach them, to his wife's great horror…. Picture the scene: the oldman trembling and hoisting himself up, the little blues clinging to hischair, Mamette puffing and blowing behind him, her arms outstretched. Icaught a light scent of bergamot wafting from the open wardrobe withits large piles of discoloured linen…. It was a charming sight.

At last, after much struggling, the much vaunted jar was fetched fromthe drawer together with a dented old silver tumbler, which belonged toMaurice as a child. It was filled to the brim for me; although it wasMaurice who loved cherries so much! While serving me, the old chapspoke into my ear with the air of someone who knew about gourmet things:

—You are very lucky, to be able to have these!… My wife made themherself … you are about to taste something very good.

Unfortunately, while making them she had forgotten to add any sugar.What do you expect, you get absent-minded when you get old? Thecherries were truly awful, my poor Mamette…. But it didn't stop mefrom eating them to very the last one, without batting an eyelid.

* * * * *

The meal finished, I stood up ready to take my leave. They really wouldhave liked me to stay longer to chat about their precious grandson, butthe day was drawing to a close, I was a long way from home, and it wastime to go.

The old man stood up with me:

—Mamette, my coat!… I want to accompany him to the square.

Naturally, Mamette was quietly worried that it was a bit too cold nowfor him to go out, but she didn't let on; except, as she was helpinghim into his Spanish smoking jacket with mother of pearl buttons, Iheard the dear old soul gently saying:

—You won't be out too long, will you?

—Ah, ha! I don't know, you'll have to wait and see … he answered, atouch mischievously.

With that, they exchanged looks and laughed, and the little bluesjoined in, a mood caught even by the canaries—in their chirpingway…. Between ourselves, I think they had all been a bit intoxicatedby the smell of the cherries.

… Night fell as the grandfather and I went out. His little bluefollowed us at a distance to help him home, but he never noticed her,and he was proud fit to burst, to walk on my arm like a man. Mamette,beaming, saw it from her doorstep and nodded her head as she looked ina way that seemed to say: "Well, well, he's my very own, dear, littleman!… and he still has some go in him."

PROSE BALLADS

When I opened my door this morning, I was surprised by a great carpetof hoar-frost around the windmill. Grass sparkled and crackled likeshattered glass; the whole hillside tinkled and twinkled…. For a day,my beloved Provence was dressed up as a northern land. It was here,amongst these ice-fringed pines, and clumps of lavender in crystalbouquets, that I wrote both these Germanic-style fantasies, prompted bythe white frost gleaming at me and great V's of storks from HeinrichHeine's land made their way in a clear sky