Chapter 53

Mlle Renouf accompanied me to an inn from where I could take a stagecoach. This was a few miles from our school, and, by the time we got there, the sky had turned pink. The crickets chirped hidden among the blades of grass with a merriment I couldn't feel, and many flowers filled the air with their fragrances that, in my present state of great anxiety, I could not enjoy.

'Do you have money for your trip?' the headmistress asked me, when we walked into the inn.

I nodded, producing a pouch filled with the proceedings of my commerce with Bernard.

The headmistress, who was used to her wealthy students having some spare money, still looked at that amount of coins with some surprise, such was their value.

I was now feeling very eager to reach home to ensure my mother was well, and I assured Mlle Renouf that she could leave me there without any fear. I spoke quickly and distractedly, as if my hurried manners could, in fact, expedite up my return home in any way.

The headmistress was torn between her need to return to her home before it got dark, and her duty to ensure my safe return.

I faked a smile and hugged her, thanking her for everything she had done for me.

She seemed surprised by this display of emotion and confessed that she believed I had done much for her, while she couldn't say she had truly returned the favour.

'This is a nice way to say I haven't learned anything,' I said.

'Not at all… Not at all…' she replied awkwardly, knowing she could not plausibly deceive me on this matter.

'Mademoiselle,' I said, 'it's getting dark. Please leave. I will manage from here: I have money; the distance to my home is not great, and I will be there by lunch time tomorrow.'

The last stagecoach had left for the day, and, once Mlle Renouf had left, not after having made many recommendations in a more tender way than I had believed her capable of, I enquired about a room.

That was a poor establishment. You could tell the owner had been trying to maintain it in a state of acceptable cleanliness, but everything was too old and too broken, and the dirt had penetrated so deeply into every surface, that the effort was now vain.

The owner sat on a table, surveying his domain with resignation. He was a large man, as you would find in that part of the country, that resemble, and smell like, large meat pies: his face appeared as round as the moon, being devoid of hair on top and of beard or moustache on the bottom; the skin was red and swollen, as if the content wanted to escape from underneath; the small, porcine eyes were bloodshot and couldn't focused on anything with much interest.

He breathed noisily from his mouth, his tongue leaning on the lower row of teeth, as if his nose was permanently blocked. He spoke each word with a great effort, which left him breathless. He appeared on the verge of asphyxiation with each sentence.

Before him a bottle of Calvados and a chipped, emptied glass, covered in oily fingerprints.

'A room…' he repeated, after I spoke, almost surprised by the request, and unable to fully comprehend it. 'Yes… I suppose… We may have some…'

As he spoke, he made a vague gesture that spanned across the establishment over which the man had some form of jurisdiction.

I was a little taken aback by such reaction. After all, this couldn't possibly be an unusual request.

'Yes. I room,' I repeated.

'I will need to check…' he said obtusely, drawing air into his throat with a gurgling sound.

'Well, do you have it, or don't you?' I demanded, now a little irritated.

He looked around. A few people were drinking. An old man was sleeping, leaning with his chair against a corner. A few travellers, their clothes still dusty, were talking amongst themselves.

The answer to the question didn't seem to come easy to the man.

'My wife might know… You will need to ask her,' he said finally, searching the room for said wife.

This was a wispy, arch woman, who moved from guest to guest demanding whether they wanted another glass or whether they were staying for dinner. She did so with such brusque and flustered manner, which was quite unlike the phlegmatic ways of her husband, that people felt obliged to request more food and spend more money for having so inconvenience her.

Finally, the owner's wife came to the table.

'So?' she asked, drying her hands on her apron.

'A room…' the owner told her with great stupefaction, 'This lady wants a room…'

'Well?' the woman asked him. 'Give him one.'

This order surprised the man, who hadn't so far thought of this possibility.

But now, the woman looked at me with some suspicion.

'Do you have money?'

I said I did.

She squinted and thought for a moment.

'How much to do you have?'

She demanded this with such anger in her eyes and such show of suspecting me of having none, that I felt obliged to produce once again my savings.

'You see…' the woman said, smiling quite horribly, and now seeming to find more difficulties with my request, 'we only have one room left, but it's the best room of the inn. When the Emperor, may God rest his soul, passed through, he slept in that room.'

'I believe your husband had said you had various rooms available,' I said quite innocently.

The man, heard this remark, began to look intently into the chipped glass that rested before him. He mumbled a few words, which I didn't understand, then poured himself a few drops from the bottle, for this was all that remained within that vessel.

'My husband has no knowledge of how this place is run,' the woman said quite firmly. 'In any case, we have one room left. Those men,' she said pointing towards the travellers with dusty clothes, 'occupy whatever I had left.'

'True… true…' the husband said, staring now towards his wife, now towards the poor content of his glass.

'How much?' I asked.

The woman looked at me with a wide smile.

'Five franks!' she exclaimed.

I knew this to be an enormity, but, not having any choice on the matter, and determined to prove her superior, I said with a casual air:

'Is that all?'

The woman stared at me some more without saying anything.

I felt quite liberal in the use of that money that had cost me so little to earn. Furthermore, I believed I was returning to my mother's care, and to a life of great ease. I therefore felt no qualm in parting from that sum. In fact, I felt some sort of happiness, as I felt that I could dispose of that money in such a foolish way without any remorse.

'Here,' I said, plucking the coins out of my purse. 'One… two… I take my supper will be included.'

The man made a gesture to reach for the money, but the woman gave it a big slapped and clutched the coins rapacious.

'Of course, of course!' she hissed, not quite believing that coup.

The woman then led me upstairs to the second floor.

My room was at the end of a narrow and dark corridor. A little black door, not different to the other ones that we had walked past.

Behind that little door, I discovered a space so small, so dirty, and filled with all sorts of disparate objects, that I exclaimed:

'Indeed, if an emperor has slept here, it must have been Julius Caesar!'

The woman said a few words about people who knew nothing of good taste, but quickly disappeared, leaving me to contemplate my accommodation for the night.

The walls were whitewashed. Across the ceiling ran large timber beams, and from various gaps I could spy the night sky, which indicated that I was actually lodging under the roof.

Along the four walls, was a great clutter of cabinets, cupboards, little broken tables, and other objects in various states of disrepair. 

In the middle of the room, was a large four-poster bed, with red brocade curtains, held in place by green ropes.

The mattress, when I put my hands on it, appeared to be filled with straw or even twigs, feeling hard to the touch, and giving loud, crunchy noises when pressed.

I sat on it, stupefied, for a while. I was now becoming aware of being in an unfamiliar place, all alone. Almost one year had passed from the last time I had seen my mother. She hadn't written to me in many months, and she hadn't visited, while I was at the institute, and, on the last day of term, had forgotten to come to collect me. I could not understand the reason of her silence, but I now feared that Mr LeClair's influence on her had been so great that she now resented my return, and she possibly feared that I was going to spoil whatever life she had built in my absence.

I sat there in such a state until the door opened, and the owner of the inn came in to announce that supper was ready:

'Mutton and leeks!'

He asked me whether I wanted to eat in my chambers (I laughed when he called my lodgings in such pompous manner, but he ignored it), or if I preferred to come to the common room.

I thanked him and said I preferred to eat with the other guests. In truth, the smell of mould and rot that permeated that bedroom were too much for me and were certainly a poor condiment to the food, so that I desired to spend as little time therein as I could.

The common room was full when I arrived. There was a great noise of chewing, of forks scraping against the plates, and of the various conversations that were being held at the different tables.

Having found an empty table, I sat down and awaited to be served.

I looked around, and I noticed that the clientele of that establishment wasn't the refined, aristocratic company I had been used to all my life. My dinner companions appeared to be afflicted by the same malady: too little food and too much to drink.

Now and then, I noticed a pair of eyes from some of the tables that flashed in my direction. People looked at me with suspicion, sometimes with derision, other times with curiosity.

A man looked at me, then he elbowed another person at his table, who turned in my direction and leered at me for quite a while.

Another client bowed his head towards me, with unctuous gallantry, and quickly licked his upper lip, as if savouring something sweet.

In the air was a great stench of tobacco and warm bodies.

I grew impatient to receive my supper, which I wanted to finish quickly, so that I could retire in my room, which now felt quite more welcoming than I had thought it to be beforehand.

'Would you mind it terribly, if I sat with you: there are no other spare seats?' a voice behind me called.

I turned around with apprehension.

There, I saw a young man, not a day older than eighteen. He was dressed in a black cassock. He had a very pleasant face: he had fine, blonde hair; a thin nose; a pale complexion, which reddened at the glabrous cheeks, and that was in great contrast with his full and bright lips, and brown eyes that appeared both intelligent and kind.

Awaiting a reply, he smiled at me in the most handsome way.

I noticed that a few people were looking at me, also wanting to know my answer.

This youth instantly appeared to me to be quite trustworthy, and, at the same time, to offer me some protection against similar questions from other not-to-commendable companions to share my meal with.

I therefore begged him to join me, for which he thanked me profusely, in a voice that was soft and warm.

'My name is Gustave,' he said.

I introduced myself: 'My name is Eloise.'

Then, both feeling quite shy, said nothing until the food was served.

'I am a student of theology,' he said, finally, once we began our meal. 'I have been visiting some relatives,' he explained, eating a piece of bread with great appetite, 'and I have left them too late, so that I won't be able to return to the seminary until tomorrow.'

This information reassured me of his character, and I told him I was glad to make his acquaintance. I then told him that I was a student and was returning home to my mother after I had spent a year in a nearby school.

We therefore conversed for a while.

The apprehension I had felt upon arriving in that room quickly vanished.

Gustave told me much about his life. He was the son of a farmer. He was the last of seven siblings. Not having any attitude or any of the skills required to work in a farm, and, not having sufficient funds or education to pursue a different career, he had decided to join the clergy.

'Aren't you afraid you will miss out on many experiences?' I asked him somewhat impertinently.

He smiled and, although his blushing showed me that he had understood my meaning, asked me what experiences a priest could possibly miss out.

'Having children,' I said, and then I added: 'and finding love.'

'But a priest will experience these things, and many times over,' he replied.

I asked him how this was possible, since, at least as far as I knew, priests could not marry.

'But a priest,' he replied, 'is a father to all his parishioners. And, as far as love is concerned, he has the love of Jesus Christ, which is the greatest love a man can ever experience.'

Even though Gustave and I were close in age, I felt that I had seen so much more than him, and I felt much more experienced. What could he possibly know about the reality of love?

'Greater than the love of a woman?' I asked.

Now, he blushed again.

'Yes,' he said. 'At least, this is what my spiritual father tells me,' Gustave added, smiling in a self-deprecating and innocent way, which was quite charming to observe.

'But surely you must be curious?' I asked.

I knew not what prompted me to conduct myself in that way, if not a desire to show myself more knowledgeable than he.

He lowered his eyes and said:

'I wouldn't know.'

'I see I embarrass you. Let's change the subject, then,' I said, showing clemency towards him, and assuming a tone I believed made me sound older.

He raised his eyes and looked at me:

'Yes, Eloise. Why don't you tell me about yourself?'

I laughed, still playing the part of the wiser woman, and said:

'I believe that many of these things in my life, although it's not much older than yours, I believe, would surprise you. Let me just tell you that I'm an orphan, if not in the true sense of the word, in its effect: my father has abandoned me, and the man who raised me died having discovered that all the people he believed to be his friends wouldn't lift a finger to help him when he needed their assistance. That has taught me a great lesson, greater than any I have learned at school… I am left in the care of my mother, who, as you can see for yourself, may have abandoned me today and left me to return home on my own.'

Gustave then appeared quite saddened by this and told me that God will never give me more than I can take, and that his guidance will always be available in times of need.

'Ah ah! My dear Gustave,' I laughed, 'is that what your spiritual father suggest you told people in difficulty?'

The young man lowered his eyes once more and asked for my forgiveness if he had spoken out of turn.

I took his hand and said:

'But not at all. I have spoken quite rudely to you. I wish I had said nothing.'

Gustave took his hand back quickly and brought another piece of bread to his mouth, which he ate quite nervously.

I too busied myself with my meal, which was indeed as horrid as I had expected it to be, but, every few bites, I would look up at Gustave, finding his sight quite pleasant.

He was unlike most of the men I had known so far. While most men do everything they can to prove superior to a woman, Gustave appeared innocent of all. Although he spoke in a careful way, which he had certainly learned in the seminary, and which contained many platitudes that, in his inexperience, had up to that point believed to be quite profound, he made no effort to defend his positions against my quips and wasn't too proud to admit that he still knew very little about the world.

I smiled to myself when I noticed that my glanced were being returned.

Finally, the table was cleared.

'I thank you for company,' he said. 'I believe you have given me good food for though.'

'Have I?' I asked a little surprised.

'Well,' Gustave replied, crimson quickly flashing across his face, 'you have made me wonder if I can truly renounce a world I don't know.'

I felt a little proud of myself, for my design to show him that he knew very little of the world, while I had much more experience of it, had hit its target.

I then said to him, not without putting on some airs:

'My dear Gustave, don't think about it: go to your room, and tomorrow you will return to the seminary, you will learn the lessons that they teach you, and you will be happy. Knowledge of the world comes with a bitter taste and has no reward but a great mistrust of all that appears to be good.'

I now laugh at how pompous I must have sound then. I was still very young, and, even though I had experienced many things already, I couldn't call myself wise. But, in that moment, I felt entitled to speak in that tone, and to act so superior to him.

Gustave now looked at his feet and said:

'Yes, yes…'

Then he added with a wry smile:

'I will do as you say – you are certainly wise in your suggestions… wiser than I can be for lack of experience – but I cannot go to my room tonight. There is no bed here for me, and I couldn't pay it anyway. The landlady has agreed to let me sleep in the kitchen out of respect for the cloth.'

I wonder if I was supposed to feel any shame for what I said next, but all I thought was that I was just being charitable with my new friend. Even though I was truly determined to tempt this theology student who one day will be a priest who would preach purity from the pulpit, I hid this very fact from myself. Instead, I made a mental vow to not give in to any desire I might have felt for this handsome youth, and, if Gustave was inclined to join me in my bed after all, this would only be better experience than any of the platitudes he was being fed at the seminary. How could he preach abstinence when he didn't know what pleasure the flesh can give? Wasn't I being very charitable in working to fortify his spirit to future temptations?

So, I asked him with a perfectly innocent tone, while admiring his figure under the cassock and his pleasant face framed by his golden hair:

'Why don't you sleep in my room, Gustave? We might find some blankets and a mattress. This will be more comfortable than a bench in the kitchen.'

'Oh, Eloise,' he said, almost in a sigh.

Then, he raised his hand.

I took it, and we both held each other's fingers with a new and strange warmth.