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

way down, and there she was;mademoiselle herself. But she wasn't laughing any more; she wastrembling, and wet, and fearful, and cold. She would have me believethat at the bottom of the hill, she had found the River Sorgue wasswollen by the rain storm and, wanting to cross at all costs, hadrisked getting drowned. The worse thing, was that at that time ofnight, there was no chance of her getting back to the farm. She wouldnever be able to find the way to the crossing place alone, and Icouldn't leave the flock. The thought of staying the night on themountain troubled her a great deal, particularly as her family wouldworry about her. I reassured her as best I could:

—The nights are short in July, my Lady. It's only going to seem like apassing, unpleasant moment.

I quickly lit a good fire to dry her feet and her dress soaked by theriver. I then placed some milk and cheese in front of her, but the poorlittle thing couldn't turn her thoughts to either warming herself oreating. Seeing the huge tears welling up in her eyes, made me want tocry myself.

Meanwhile night had almost fallen. There was just the faintest trace ofthe sunset left on the mountains' crests. I wanted mademoiselle to goon into in the compound to rest and recover. I covered the fresh strawwith a beautiful brand new skin, and I bid her good night. I was goingto sit outside the door. As God is my witness, I never had an uncleanthought, despite my burning desire for her. I had nothing but a greatfeeling of pride in considering that, there, in a corner of thecompound, close up to the flock watching curiously over her sleepingform, my masters' daughter rested,—just like a sheep, though onewhiter and much more precious than all the others,—trusting me toguard her. To me, never had the sky seemed darker, nor the starsbrighter…. Suddenly, the wicker fence opened and the beautifulStephanette appeared. She couldn't sleep; the animals were scrunchingthe hay as they moved, or bleating in their dreams. For now, she justwanted to come close to the fire. I threw my goat-skin over hershoulders, tickled the fire, and we sat there together not sayinganything. If you know what's it's like to sleep under the stars atnight, you'll know that, when we are normally asleep, a mysteriousworld awakens in the solitude and silence. It's the time the springsbabble more clearly, and the ponds light up their will o' the wisps.All mountain spirits roam freely about, and there are rustlings in theair, imperceptible sounds, that might be branches thickening or grassgrowing. Day-time is for everyday living things; night-time is forstrange, unknown things. If you're not used to it, it can terrifyyou…. So it was with mademoiselle, who was all of a shiver, and clungto 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 cametowards us. At the same time, a shooting star flashed above our headsgoing in the same direction, as if the moan we had just heard wascarrying 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. Thenshe said to me:

—Is it true then, that you shepherds are magicians?

—No, no, mademoiselle, but here we live closer to the stars, and weknow more about what happens up there than people who live in theplains.

She kept looking at the stars, her head on her hands, wrapped in thesheepskin like a small heavenly shepherd:

—How many there are! How beautiful! I have never seen so many. Do youknow their names, shepherd?

—Of course, lady. There you are! Just above our heads, that's theMilky Way. Further on you have the Great Bear. And so, he described toher 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 Ifelt something cool and fine on my shoulder. It was her head, heavywith sleep, placed on me with just a delightful brush of her ribbons,lace, and dark tresses. She stayed just like that, unmoving, rightuntil the stars faded in the coming daylight. As for me, I watched hersleeping, being somewhat troubled in my soul, but that clear night,which had only ever given me beautiful thoughts, had kept me in aninnocent frame of mind. The stars all around us continued theirstately, 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, tosleep….

THE ARLESIENNE

As you go down to the village from the windmill, the road passes a farmsituated behind a large courtyard planted with tall Mediterraneannettle trees. It's a typical house of a Provencal tenant farmer withits red tiles, large brown façade, and haphazardly placed doors andwindows. It has a weather-cock right on top of the loft, and a pulleyto hoist hay, with a few tufts of old hay sticking out….

What was it about this particular house that struck me? Why did theclosed gate freeze my blood? I don't know; but I do know that the housegave me the shivers. It was choked by an eerie silence. No dogs barked.Guinea fowl scattered silently. Nothing was heard from inside thegrounds, not even the ubiquitous mule's bell…. Were it not for whitecurtains at the windows and smoke rising from the roof, the place couldhave been deserted.

Yesterday, around midday, I was walking back from the village, by thewalls of the farm in the shade of the old nettle trees, when I saw somefarm-hands quietly finishing loading a hay wain on the road in front ofthe farm. The gate had been left open and discovered a tall,white-haired, old man at the