Read Online Fermina Marquez (1911) by Valery Larbaud - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Valery Larbaud
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room, through the half-open door he saw Santos standing by the blackboard which he was covering with equations. "He can have hardly any idea that he has played tennis with a saint!" This thought made Joanny smile. So he was alone in knowing that beneath this gaiety, this flirtatiousness itself, there was such an intense faith, such scorn for the world and riches.
XIII
They had a further conversation, in which they talked of Christian love. Then he read the Life of Saint Rose of Lima. Never would this girl who proposed to model her life on such a person, be able to love a man. What a disillusionment! Yet when he placed this book, which she must so often have leafed through, amongst his own in his desk, he was pleased to have at least this one thing of hers.
"Poor little thing," he said to himself as a fresh idea had just flashed through his mind, "poor little thing, if they had heard you speaking in this way, how they would have made fun of you!" They were the young ladies from his region, the ones who had made him suffer so with their mocking remarks. For stupidity is dreadful in this one respect, that it can resemble the deepest wisdom. When it opens its mouth, it gives itself away immediately; but where it remains hidden, where it resembles wisdom, is when it merely laughs. These girls were "very religious and well brought-up"; intellectually, they were the products of eminently right-thinking boarding schools; and anything which struck them as extraordinary without nevertheless frightening them, seemed absurd to them at the same time. They would whisper, their looks were always hinting at something, they had pursed smiles and as for their laughter, it was of that appalling, thoughtless sort which greets all the noble and lofty ideas of young, over-enthusiastic schoolboys. Their piety of the "properly brought-up" young lady, proud of the dowries they were to have, was so far beneath that impassioned holiness which lit up the young South American girl's features! Ah! How he despised them and how he was beginning to love Fermina Marquez at the thought alone that her spiritual grandeur could be derided by these "eligible matches" from the provinces. Now he was sure he was in love with her —without hope of course; but naturally forever too.
He acknowledged his defeat: he had thought to win her love and it was he who had fallen enamoured. What he dreaded most of all had occurred. Above all he was surprised that his work did not suffer from this. Far from growing slack or from permitting himself to be distracted, he was in fact working harder than ever. He had formed the habit of supposing her always present at his side. At first, it had simply been a game, of his imagination; he would have reddened to disclose this childishness to anyone. Now it was almost an hallucination. The timbre of her voice had become so familiar to him that he thought he heard it in her absence. Wasn't that the rustling of her dress? Wasn't that the weight of her beloved body settling on the bench? Her body ... he did not like to think about it. It would have been a desecration. Just as the rest of us live in our guardian angel's presence, so did he in hers. Thus, when meeting her every day in the grounds, he felt as if he had left her only a few moments before. He would have liked to say to her: "It is for you that I work; for you and while thinking of you. And if my desire is to carry off all the prizes in my form, it is to have a little fame to present to you; it is because he whom you have chosen to confide in, can't not be the first among men!"
XIV
"Yes of course I believe; but not in the same way as you. Haven't I told you this already?"
Joanny felt that he had to share his most secret thoughts with her in his turn. For a long time, he had been wanting to tell them to somebody. From an early age, he had abandoned any disclosure of his heart to his parents. Our parents are not made for our emotional revelations. For them, we
room, through the half-open door he saw Santos standing by the blackboard which he was covering with equations. "He can have hardly any idea that he has played tennis with a saint!" This thought made Joanny smile. So he was alone in knowing that beneath this gaiety, this flirtatiousness itself, there was such an intense faith, such scorn for the world and riches.
XIII
They had a further conversation, in which they talked of Christian love. Then he read the Life of Saint Rose of Lima. Never would this girl who proposed to model her life on such a person, be able to love a man. What a disillusionment! Yet when he placed this book, which she must so often have leafed through, amongst his own in his desk, he was pleased to have at least this one thing of hers.
"Poor little thing," he said to himself as a fresh idea had just flashed through his mind, "poor little thing, if they had heard you speaking in this way, how they would have made fun of you!" They were the young ladies from his region, the ones who had made him suffer so with their mocking remarks. For stupidity is dreadful in this one respect, that it can resemble the deepest wisdom. When it opens its mouth, it gives itself away immediately; but where it remains hidden, where it resembles wisdom, is when it merely laughs. These girls were "very religious and well brought-up"; intellectually, they were the products of eminently right-thinking boarding schools; and anything which struck them as extraordinary without nevertheless frightening them, seemed absurd to them at the same time. They would whisper, their looks were always hinting at something, they had pursed smiles and as for their laughter, it was of that appalling, thoughtless sort which greets all the noble and lofty ideas of young, over-enthusiastic schoolboys. Their piety of the "properly brought-up" young lady, proud of the dowries they were to have, was so far beneath that impassioned holiness which lit up the young South American girl's features! Ah! How he despised them and how he was beginning to love Fermina Marquez at the thought alone that her spiritual grandeur could be derided by these "eligible matches" from the provinces. Now he was sure he was in love with her —without hope of course; but naturally forever too.
He acknowledged his defeat: he had thought to win her love and it was he who had fallen enamoured. What he dreaded most of all had occurred. Above all he was surprised that his work did not suffer from this. Far from growing slack or from permitting himself to be distracted, he was in fact working harder than ever. He had formed the habit of supposing her always present at his side. At first, it had simply been a game, of his imagination; he would have reddened to disclose this childishness to anyone. Now it was almost an hallucination. The timbre of her voice had become so familiar to him that he thought he heard it in her absence. Wasn't that the rustling of her dress? Wasn't that the weight of her beloved body settling on the bench? Her body ... he did not like to think about it. It would have been a desecration. Just as the rest of us live in our guardian angel's presence, so did he in hers. Thus, when meeting her every day in the grounds, he felt as if he had left her only a few moments before. He would have liked to say to her: "It is for you that I work; for you and while thinking of you. And if my desire is to carry off all the prizes in my form, it is to have a little fame to present to you; it is because he whom you have chosen to confide in, can't not be the first among men!"
XIV
"Yes of course I believe; but not in the same way as you. Haven't I told you this already?"
Joanny felt that he had to share his most secret thoughts with her in his turn. For a long time, he had been wanting to tell them to somebody. From an early age, he had abandoned any disclosure of his heart to his parents. Our parents are not made for our emotional revelations. For them, we
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