FRIDAY ILLUSTRATION AND MISS HARRIET BY MAUPASSANT
Hello dear readers and fellow blog! In this post, we shall combine fashion. literature and illustration, meaning I'll share a book review accompanied by my outfits and illustrations. I shall review Miss Harriet, a short story or a novella by French writer Guy de Maupassant. Some sources say that Miss Harriet is a novella, and others that it's a short story. The fact that I read it in Maupassant's The Complete short stories edition, makes a case for the later. However, Miss Harriet's considerably longer than most Maupassant's short stories, so I can understand it being described as a novella. Either way, it's an impressive piece of writing.
I read it during the holiday season, and spoiler alert, it's a heavy read. Miss Harriet is a story that focuses on an unmarried women. I think it could be said that Miss Harries is a story about a lady who is trying to find meaning in life religion, nature and art. However, there is tragedy in this story, and towards the end, a suicide occurs with the victim described in detail. So, it's not exactly light reading. Oddly enough, almost all of Maupassant stories that I read during the holidays focused on and ended with suicide. If you remembered, I reviewed two of those Maupassant stories (Coward and The Father) in this recent post. One of those ended in suicide, but both of them were quite bleak. Still, as tragic and pessimistic as many of Maupassant stories are, I continue to hold this writer in high esteem. Maupassant's talent for writing is so obvious, that it naturally occurs and impresses in each of his works. Moreover, his ability to dive into the psychology of his characters never ceases to amaze me. In Miss Harriet in particular, he managed to create an elaborative and touching portrayal of a woman looking for meaning in life.
LET'S TALK FASHION AND ART- HOW I WORE AND ILLUSTRATED IT BEFORE?
Now, let's talk about fashion and art for a bit. I'm sharing three dark winter outfits in this post. All of them are predominately black outfits with some red touches. I like to add red touches to my dark outfits. With the celebration of Lunar New Year, red touches are always welcome. We can all use the energy of red colour right now.
Speaking of my outfits, that all feature clothing items that have been illustrated on my blog. I shopped my closet for all three of these outfits, and I'll prove it by linking these clothing items before. So, before I review this novella (or short story), let me tell you the story of my outfits and fashion illustrations.
OUTFIT NUMBER #1- A BLACK LEATHER JACKET PAIRED WITH A BLACK FAUX LEATHER MINI SKIRT, BLACK TIGHTS, A RED SCARF, A PINK BEANIE, A STRIPED FAUX LEATHER TOTE BAG AND BLACK DOC MARTENS BOOTS
This was a fun and comfortable outfit to wear. Above you can see the outfit photographed without a beanie, and below you can see it with the colourful beanie. It was actually quite cold that day, so I sort of layered my beanie onto my sunglasses as I wanted to keep warm. I'm very prone to sinus infections these days. I think it's the lack of sea that's getting to me. I used to cure my sinuses with salt water, and right now I'm doing inhabitations, but nothing comes close to a walk by the sea, does it? Still, Mostar is a gorgeous Mediterranean city and I'm not complaining. It's hardly ever cold here, and when it does get cold, it's not that hard to dress a bit more warmly.
THE BLACK LEATHER JACKET - a vintage item that my husband got and wore in his early twenties. I often build my outfits around it, as I love it to bits. I noticed that I often wear it with this red scarf, I can think of a few outfits when I styled it with this red scarf. Browse the links below to see many different ways to style this jacket.
34 WAYS TO WEAR A VINTAGE BLACK LEATHER JACKET
THE BLACK DOC MARTENS -vintage. I love this pair of doc Martens. I've bought it when I was 15, and it being vintage, you know I'm older than 35. :)
1-20) In this post, you can find 20 outfits with this vintage pair of doc martens.
OUTFIT PROPOSAL NUMBER #2 , A BLACK SHORT COAT PAIRED WITH A BLACK SKIRT, A DARK BLUE SHIRT, A RED STRIPED SCARF, A PAIR OF BLACK LEGGINGS, A PAIR OF BLACK KITTEN HEELS AND A MINI BLACK BAG WITH GOLD CHAINS
This was another warm and comfortable styling. If I recall well, I wore it to work. Sometimes I really feel like wearing an all black outfit. As much as I love colour, there's something to be said about the elegance of an all black styling. If worn right, black can feel quite elegant, timeless and pulled together.
By the way, if you're wondering is this cat really as clingy as it looks, the answer is YES! Every time I leave the house, I'm surrounded by a group of cats that live in the area- and I love it. Among these cats, this little guy is the most clingy one. He's also a climber. No matter in how much hurry I might be, he always manages to climb onto me and demand some cuddles.
THE BLACK COAT- Tally Weijl, old
OUTFIT #3 THE RED PUFFER PAIRED WITH A DARK BLUE SHIRT, A BLACK CARDI, A PAIR OF FLARED LEGGINGS AND BLACK POINTY BOOTS.
It was autumn. On both sides of the road stretched the bare fields, yellowed by the stubble of wheat and oats which covered the soil like a beard that had been badly shaved. The moist earth seemed to steam. Larks were singing high up in the air, while other birds piped in the bushes.
The sun rose at length in front of us, bright red on the plane of the horizon, and in proportion as it ascended, growing clearer from minute to minute, the country seemed to awake, to smile, to shake itself like a young girl leaving her bed in her white robe of vapor.
The Comte d'Etraille, who was seated on the box, cried:
"Look! look! a hare!" and he extended his arm toward the left, pointing to a patch of clover. The animal scurried along, almost hidden by the clover, only its large ears showing. Then it swerved across a furrow, stopped, started off again at full speed, changed its course, stopped anew, uneasy, spying out every danger, uncertain what route to take, when suddenly it began to run with great bounds, disappearing finally in a large patch of beet-root. All the men had waked up to watch the course of the animal.
The men are waken up by the sight of a hare, but the women seem still sleepy, and this leads to some discussion between the passages. I wonder if this is not also a reflection on a difference between men and women.
Historically, men are often perceived as hunters, and while women have also been described as hunters, sometimes they seem to be compared to prey. Perhaps the author wanted the reader to think about this, as he prepares his readers for a framed narrative. What happens next is that a conversation starts, and this conversation will lead to a framed narrative. Rene makes remarks upon Baroness de Serennes saying she's thinking about her husband, and the Baroness changes the subject and asks for an entertaining story.
Rene Lamanoir exclaimed:
"We are not at all gallant this morning," and; regarding his neighbor, the little Baroness de Serennes, who struggled against sleep, he said to her in a low tone: "You are thinking of your husband, baroness. Reassure yourself; he will not return before Saturday, so you have still four days."
She answered with a sleepy smile:
"How stupid you are!" Then, shaking off her torpor, she added: "Now, let somebody say something to make us laugh. You, Monsieur Chenal, who have the reputation of having had more love affairs than the Due de Richelieu, tell us a love story in which you have played a part; anything you like."
Do not despise me for my affection for these rustics. These girls have a soul as well as senses, not to mention firm cheeks and fresh lips; while their hearty and willing kisses have the flavor of wild fruit. Love is always love, come whence it may. A heart that beats at your approach, an eye that weeps when you go away are things so rare, so sweet, so precious that they must never be despised.
I must say I found these words quite poetical and true. Love is always something special. Not every love is equally profound, but feelings of love should be respected. That's what Leon seems to believe. He continues his story, telling of his rural romances that seemed more dear to him than those with distinguished women. Is Leon criticizing the obsession with social rank that was present in his time?
"I have had rendezvous in ditches full of primroses, behind the cow stable and in barns among the straw, still warm from the heat of the day. I have recollections of coarse gray cloth covering supple peasant skin and regrets for simple, frank kisses, more delicate in their unaffected sincerity than the subtle favors of charming and distinguished women."
"You sit down by the side of a spring which gushes out at the foot of an oak, amid a growth of tall, slender weeds, glistening with life. You go down on your knees, bend forward and drink that cold, pellucid water which wets your mustache and nose; you drink it with a physical pleasure, as though you kissed the spring, lip to lip. Sometimes, when you find a deep hole along the course of these tiny brooks, you plunge in quite naked, and you feel on your skin, from head to foot, as it were, an icy and delicious caress, the light and gentle quivering of the stream.
"You are gay on the hills, melancholy on the edge of ponds, inspired when the sun is setting in an ocean of blood-red clouds and casts red reflections or the river. And at night, under the moon, which passes across the vault of heaven, you think of a thousand strange things which would never have occurred to your mind under the brilliant light of day.
Finally, Leon explains how he happened to find himself in the little village of Benouville and how he took longing with an old stern woman.
"So, in wandering through the same country where we, are this year, I came to the little village of Benouville, on the cliff between Yport and Etretat. I came from Fecamp, following the coast, a high coast as straight as a wall, with its projecting chalk cliffs descending perpendicularly into the sea. I had walked since early morning on the short grass, smooth and yielding as a carpet, that grows on the edge of the cliff. And, singing lustily, I walked with long strides, looking sometimes at the slow circling flight of a gull with its white curved wings outlined on the blue sky, sometimes at the brown sails of a fishing bark on the green sea. In short, I had passed a happy day, a day of liberty and of freedom from care.
"A little farmhouse where travellers were lodged was pointed out to me, a kind of inn, kept by a peasant woman, which stood in the centre of a Norman courtyard surrounded by a double row of beeches.
The narrator does a great job describing Madame Lechacheur. As I was reading, I easily imagined not only her and her house, but the narrator's feelings towards them as well. I could also understand why he seems to recall everything in such detail. That is, I could understand once I finished the tale.
"She was an old, wrinkled and stern peasant woman, who seemed always to receive customers under protest, with a kind of defiance.
"It was the month of May. The spreading apple trees covered the court with a shower of blossoms which rained unceasingly both upon people and upon the grass.
"I said: 'Well, Madame Lecacheur, have you a room for me?'
"Astonished to find that I knew her name, she answered:
"'That depends; everything is let, but all the same I can find out."
"In five minutes we had come to an agreement, and I deposited my bag upon the earthen floor of a rustic room, furnished with a bed, two chairs, a table and a washbowl. The room looked into the large, smoky kitchen, where the lodgers took their meals with the people of the farm and the landlady, who was a widow.
"I washed my hands, after which I went out. The old woman was making a chicken fricassee for dinner in the large fireplace in which hung the iron pot, black with smoke."
"'You have travellers, then, at the present time?' said I to her.
This is the moment when the narrator learns of Miss Harriet. He asks about travellers, and is informed that Miss Harried is staying there. A significant moment in the novella, as Miss Harriet is in a way -the main character. Immediately, as readers, we're given a detailed description of Miss Harriet. Our protagonist is cheered by her sight, even if he describes her in somewhat unflattering tones, he seems to be happy to see her. Perhaps he has grown lonely in the country?
"She answered in an offended tone of voice:
"'I have a lady, an English lady, who has reached years of maturity. She occupies the other room.'
"I obtained, by means of an extra five sous a day, the privilege of dining alone out in the yard when the weather was fine.
"My place was set outside the door, and I was beginning to gnaw the lean limbs of the Normandy chicken, to drink the clear cider and to munch the hunk of white bread, which was four days old but excellent.
"Suddenly the wooden gate which gave on the highway was opened, and a strange lady directed her steps toward the house. She was very thin, very tall, so tightly enveloped in a red Scotch plaid shawl that one might have supposed she had no arms, if one had not seen a long hand appear just above the hips, holding a white tourist umbrella. Her face was like that of a mummy, surrounded with curls of gray hair, which tossed about at every step she took and made me think, I know not why, of a pickled herring in curl papers. Lowering her eyes, she passed quickly in front of me and entered the house.
"That singular apparition cheered me. She undoubtedly was my neighbor, the English lady of mature age of whom our hostess had spoken."
"I did not see her again that day. The next day, when I had settled myself to commence painting at the end of that beautiful valley which you know and which extends as far as Etretat, I perceived, on lifting my eyes suddenly, something singular standing on the crest of the cliff, one might have said a pole decked out with flags. It was she. On seeing me, she suddenly disappeared. I reentered the house at midday for lunch and took my seat at the general table, so as to make the acquaintance of this odd character. But she did not respond to my polite advances, was insensible even to my little attentions. I poured out water for her persistently, I passed her the dishes with great eagerness. A slight, almost imperceptible, movement of the head and an English word, murmured so low that I did not understand it, were her only acknowledgments.
"I ceased occupying myself with her, although she had disturbed my thoughts.
"At the end of three days I knew as much about her as did Madame Lecacheur herself.
"She was called Miss Harriet. Seeking out a secluded village in which to pass the summer, she had been attracted to Benouville some six months before and did not seem disposed to leave it. She never spoke at table, ate rapidly, reading all the while a small book of the Protestant propaganda. She gave a copy of it to everybody. The cure himself had received no less than four copies, conveyed by an urchin to whom she had paid two sous commission. She said sometimes to our hostess abruptly, without preparing her in the least for the declaration:
"'I love the Saviour more than all. I admire him in all creation; I adore him in all nature; I carry him always in my heart.'
"And she would immediately present the old woman with one of her tracts which were destined to convert the universe.
"'She is a heretic, but God does not wish the death of the sinner, and I believe her to be a person of pure morals.'
"These words, 'atheist,' 'heretic,' words which no one can precisely define, threw doubts into some minds. It was asserted, however, that this English woman was rich and that she had passed her life in travelling through every country in the world because her family had cast her off. Why had her family cast her off? Because of her impiety, of course!
Despite not liking overly religious people and puritans, whom he describes in unflattering terms, Leon seems to take a liking to Miss Harriet, considering her to be 'singular'.
"She was, in fact, one of those people of exalted principles; one of those opinionated puritans, of which England produces so many; one of those good and insupportable old maids who haunt the tables d'hote of every hotel in Europe, who spoil Italy, poison Switzerland, render the charming cities of the Mediterranean uninhabitable, carry everywhere their fantastic manias their manners of petrified vestals, their indescribable toilets and a certain odor of india-rubber which makes one believe that at night they are slipped into a rubber casing.
"Whenever I caught sight of one of these individuals in a hotel I fled like the birds who see a scarecrow in a field.
"This woman, however, appeared so very singular that she did not displease me."
Madame Lecacheur, hostile by instinct to everything that was not rustic, felt in her narrow soul a kind of hatred for the ecstatic declarations of the old maid. She had found a phrase by which to describe her, a term of contempt that rose to her lips, called forth by I know not what confused and mysterious mental ratiocination. She said: 'That woman is a demoniac.' This epithet, applied to that austere and sentimental creature, seemed to me irresistibly droll. I myself never called her anything now but 'the demoniac,' experiencing a singular pleasure in pronouncing aloud this word on perceiving her.
"One day I asked Mother Lecacheur : 'Well, what is our demoniac about to- day?'
"To which my rustic friend replied with a shocked air:
"'What do you think, sir? She picked up a toad which had had its paw crushed and carried it to her room and has put it in her washbasin and bandaged it as if it were a man. If that is not profanation I should like to know what is!'
As a reader, it is easy to become fascinated with Miss Harriet. Perhaps sensing this, the narrator tells us more about her. The whole way the writer introduces and develops the character of Miss Harriet is brilliant. The framed narrative really works well in this novella. As a reader you have a feeling you're really listening to someone telling you about Miss Harriet.
"On another occasion, when walking along the shore she bought a large fish which had just been caught, simply to throw it back into the sea again. The sailor from whom she had bought it, although she paid him handsomely, now began to swear, more exasperated, indeed, than if she had put her hand into his pocket and taken his money. For more than a month he could not speak of the circumstance without becoming furious and denouncing it as an outrage. Oh, yes! She was indeed a demoniac, this Miss Harriet, and Mother Lecacheur must have had an inspiration in thus christening her.
"The stable boy, who was called Sapeur, because he had served in Africa in his youth, entertained other opinions. He said with a roguish air: 'She is an old hag who has seen life.'
"If the poor woman had but known!
"The little kind-hearted Celeste did not wait upon her willingly, but I was never able to understand why. Probably her only reason was that she was a stranger, of another race; of a different tongue and of another religion. She was, in fact, a demoniac!
Is there a bit of social commentary to be found here? I believe there is. First our narrator who is a member of nobility, implied that all love is precious, and that one shouldn't look down on love felt by what was considered the lower classes- namely peasants. Now, the same narrator shows the peasants i.e. rural folk as close minded. They are not accepting of an old spinster lady who, while being perhaps a bit tiresome with trying to convert them to their religion, doesn't do harm. So, the writer doesn't idolize either class. Nobility or rural folks, they are all just people. People tend to exclude those who don't belong in their social group. As an artist Leon might be sensitive to this. I love how this story focuses on Miss Harriet. However, I also like the social commentary it contains.
Now, as one might expect comes the moment when Leon and Miss Harriet come into contact. They both spend a lot of time in the nature, and so they see one another sometimes.
"She passed her time wandering about the country, adoring and seeking God in nature. I found her one evening on her knees in a cluster of bushes. Having discovered something red through the leaves, I brushed aside the branches, and Miss Harriet at once rose to her feet, confused at having been found thus, fixing on me terrified eyes like those of an owl surprised in open day.
"Sometimes, when I was working among the rocks, I would suddenly descry her on the edge of the cliff like a lighthouse signal. She would be gazing in rapture at the vast sea glittering in the sunlight and the boundless sky with its golden tints. Sometimes I would distinguish her at the end of the valley, walking quickly with her elastic English step, and I would go toward her, attracted by I know not what, simply to see her illuminated visage, her dried-up, ineffable features, which seemed to glow with inward and profound happiness.
Leon wants to meet Miss Harriet, and becomes fascinated with this old English woman.
"I would often encounter her also in the corner of a field, sitting on the grass under the shadow of an apple tree, with her little religious booklet lying open on her knee while she gazed out at the distance.
"I could not tear myself away from that quiet country neighborhood, to which I was attached by a thousand links of love for its wide and peaceful landscape. I was happy in this sequestered farm, far removed from everything, but in touch with the earth, the good, beautiful, green earth. And - must I avow it? - there was, besides, a little curiosity which retained me at the residence of Mother Lecacheur. I wished to become acquainted a little with this strange Miss Harriet and to know what transpires in the solitary souls of those wandering old English women.
They become officially acquainted after Leon finishes one of his paintings, and asks for her opinion. I feel like the reason why he wants to know Miss Harriet's opinion is that he thinks her capable of abstraction. Miss Harriet spends as much time in the nature as Leon does, and seems equally amazed by it. Moreover, Miss Harriet seems to be looking for something more from life, and so is Leon. Leon is looking for art in nature, and Miss Harriet is looking for her creator in nature. Maybe these two are more similar than they realize.
"We became acquainted in a rather singular manner. I had just finished a study which appeared to me to be worth something, and so it was, as it sold for ten thousand francs fifteen years later. It was as simple, however, as two and two make four and was not according to academic rules. The whole right side of my canvas represented a rock, an enormous rock, covered with sea-wrack, brown, yellow and red, across which the sun poured like a stream of oil. The light fell upon the rock as though it were aflame without the sun, which was at my back, being visible. That was all. A first bewildering study of blazing, gorgeous light.
"On the left was the sea, not the blue sea, the slate-colored sea, but a sea of jade, greenish, milky and solid beneath the deep-colored sky.
"I was so pleased with my work that I danced from sheer delight as I carried it back to the inn. I would have liked the whole world to see it at once. I can remember that I showed it to a cow that was browsing by the wayside, exclaiming as I did so: 'Look at that, my old beauty; you will not often see its like again.'
So, it's no wonder that when Leon paints a picture he is proud of, he asks Miss Harriet's opinion about it.
"When I had reached the house I immediately called out to Mother Lecacheur, shouting with all my might:
"'Hullo, there! Mrs. Landlady, come here and look at this.'
"The rustic approached and looked at my work with her stupid eyes which distinguished nothing and could not even tell whether the picture represented an ox or a house.
"Miss Harriet just then came home, and she passed behind me just as I was holding out my canvas at arm's length, exhibiting it to our landlady. The demoniac could not help but see it, for I took care to exhibit the thing in such a way that it could not escape her notice. She stopped abruptly and stood motionless, astonished. It was her rock which was depicted, the one which she climbed to dream away her time undisturbed.
"She uttered a British 'Aoh,' which was at once so accentuated and so flattering that I turned round to her, smiling, and said:
"'This is my latest study, mademoiselle.'
"She murmured rapturously, comically and tenderly:
"'Oh! monsieur, you understand nature as a living thing.'
Leon is touched by the simplicity of Miss Harriet's words and of her complement. It seems that a friendship might be formed between an old English lady and twenty something French man.
"I colored and was more touched by that compliment than if it had come from a queen. I was captured, conquered, vanquished. I could have embraced her, upon my honor.
"I took my seat at table beside her as usual. For the first time she spoke, thinking aloud:
"'Oh! I do love nature.'
"I passed her some bread, some water, some wine. She now accepted these with a little smile of a mummy. I then began to talk about the scenery.
"After the meal we rose from the table together and walked leisurely across the courtyard; then, attracted doubtless by the fiery glow which the setting sun cast over the surface of the sea, I opened the gate which led to the cliff, and we walked along side by side, as contented as two persons might be who have just learned to understand and penetrate each other's motives and feelings.
Miss Harriet is greatly touched by the beauty of nature, revealing an artistic spirit.
"It was one of those warm, soft evenings which impart a sense of ease to flesh and spirit alike. All is enjoyment, everything charms. The balmy air, laden with the perfume of grasses and the smell of seaweed, soothes the olfactory sense with its wild fragrance, soothes the palate with its sea savor, soothes the mind with its pervading sweetness.
"We were now walking along the edge of the cliff, high above the boundless sea which rolled its little waves below us at a distance of a hundred metres. And we drank in with open mouth and expanded chest that fresh breeze, briny from kissing the waves, that came from the ocean and passed across our faces.
"Wrapped in her plaid shawl, with a look of inspiration as she faced the breeze, the English woman gazed fixedly at the great sun ball as it descended toward the horizon. Far off in the distance a three-master in full sail was outlined on the blood-red sky and a steamship, somewhat nearer, passed along, leaving behind it a trail of smoke on the horizon. The red sun globe sank slowly lower and lower and presently touched the water just behind the motionless vessel, which, in its dazzling effulgence, looked as though framed in a flame of fire. We saw it plunge, grow smaller and disappear, swallowed up by the ocean.
"Miss Harriet gazed in rapture at the last gleams of the dying day. She seemed longing to embrace the sky, the sea, the whole landscape.
"She murmured: 'Aoh! I love - I love' I saw a tear in her eye. She continued: 'I wish I were a little bird, so that I could mount up into the firmament.'
"She remained standing as I had often before seen her, perched on the cliff, her face as red as her shawl. I should have liked to have sketched her in my album. It would have been a caricature of ecstasy.
"I turned away so as not to laugh.
Why did the narrator turn away as not to laugh? I find myself asking this question. He clearly likes and respects Miss Harriet, so what is there to laugh about? I think it's an endearing kind of laugh he had in mind. The way we laugh when a child does something. At any rate, Leon starts conversing with miss Harriet about art, showing that he respects her opinion."I then spoke to her of painting as I would have done to a fellow artist, using the technical terms common among the devotees of the profession. She listened attentively, eagerly seeking to divine the meaning of the terms, so as to understand my thoughts. From time to time she would exclaim:
'Oh! I understand, I understand. It is very interesting.'
"We returned home.
"The next day, on seeing me, she approached me, cordially holding out her hand; and we at once became firm friends.
"She was a good creature who had a kind of soul on springs, which became enthusiastic at a bound. She lacked equilibrium like all women who are spinsters at the age of fifty. She seemed to be preserved in a pickle of innocence, but her heart still retained something very youthful and inflammable. She loved both nature and animals with a fervor, a love like old wine fermented through age, with a sensuous love that she had never bestowed on men.
"One thing is certain, that the sight of a bitch nursing her puppies, a mare roaming in a meadow with a foal at its side, a bird's nest full of young ones, screaming, with their open mouths and their enormous heads, affected her perceptibly.
"Poor, solitary, sad, wandering beings! I love you ever since I became acquainted with Miss Harriet.
"I soon discovered that she had something she would like to tell me, but dare not, and I was amused at her timidity. When I started out in the morning with my knapsack on my back, she would accompany me in silence as far as the end of the village, evidently struggling to find words with which to begin a conversation. Then she would leave me abruptly and walk away quickly with her springy step.
"One day, however, she plucked up courage:
"I would like to see how you paint pictures. Are you willing? I have been very curious.'
"And she blushed as if she had said something very audacious.
"I conducted her to the bottom of the Petit-Val, where I had begun a large picture.
"She remained standing behind me, following all my gestures with concentrated attention. Then, suddenly, fearing perhaps that she was disturbing me, she said: 'Thank you,' and walked away.
"But she soon became more friendly, and accompanied me every day, her countenance exhibiting visible pleasure. She carried her camp stool under her arm, not permitting me to carry it. She would remain there for hours, silent and motionless, following with her eyes the point of my brush, in its every movement. When I obtained unexpectedly just the effect I wanted by a dash of color put on with the palette knife, she involuntarily uttered a little 'Ah!' of astonishment, of joy, of admiration. She had the most tender respect for my canvases, an almost religious respect for that human reproduction of a part of nature's work divine. My studies appeared to her a kind of religious pictures, and sometimes she spoke to me of God, with the idea of converting me.
"Oh, he was a queer, good-natured being, this God of hers! He was a sort of village philosopher without any great resources and without great power, for she always figured him to herself as inconsolable over injustices committed under his eyes, as though he were powerless to prevent them.
"She was, however, on excellent terms with him, affecting even to be the confidante of his secrets and of his troubles. She would say:
"'God wills' or 'God does not will,' just like a sergeant announcing to a recruit: 'The colonel has commanded.'
"At the bottom of her heart she deplored my ignorance of the intentions of the Eternal, which she endeavored to impart to me.
"Almost every day I found in my pockets, in my hat when I lifted it from the ground, in my paintbox, in my polished shoes, standing in front of my door in the morning, those little pious tracts which she no doubt, received directly from Paradise.
Their friendship remains unaffected by Miss Harriet's attempt to convert Leon to her religion. Leon sees her as a true friend. However, soon he notices a change in her. She blushes when he pays her a compliment, and she seems annoyed with him sometimes.
"I treated her as one would an old friend, with unaffected cordiality. But I soon perceived that she had changed somewhat in her manner, though, for a while, I paid little attention to it.
"When I was painting, whether in my valley or in some country lane, I would see her suddenly appear with her rapid, springy walk. She would then sit down abruptly, out of breath, as though she had been running or were overcome by some profound emotion. Her face would be red, that English red which is denied to the people of all other countries; then, without any reason, she would turn ashy pale and seem about to faint away. Gradually, however, her natural color would return and she would begin to speak.
"Then, without warning, she would break off in the middle of a sentence, spring up from her seat and walk away so rapidly and so strangely that I was at my wits' ends to discover whether I had done or said anything to displease or wound her.
"I finally came to the conclusion that those were her normal manners, somewhat modified no doubt in my honor during the first days of our acquaintance.
"When she returned to the farm, after walking for hours on the windy coast, her long curls often hung straight down, as if their springs had been broken. This had hitherto seldom given her any concern, and she would come to dinner without embarrassment all dishevelled by her sister, the breeze.
But now she would go to her room and arrange the untidy locks, and when I would say, with familiar gallantry, which, however, always offended her "'You are as beautiful as a star to-day, Miss Harriet,' a blush would immediately rise to her cheeks, the blush of a young girl, of a girl of fifteen.
"Then she would suddenly become quite reserved and cease coming to watch me paint. I thought, 'This is only a fit of temper; it will blow over.' But it did not always blow over, and when I spoke to her she would answer me either with affected indifference or with sullen annoyance.
"She became by turns rude, impatient and nervous. I never saw her now except at meals, and we spoke but little. I concluded at length that I must have offended her in some way, and, accordingly, I said to her one evening:
"'Miss Harriet, why is it that you do not act toward me as formerly? What have I done to displease you? You are causing me much pain!'
"She replied in a most comical tone of anger:
"'I am just the same with you as formerly. It is not true, not true,' and she ran upstairs and shut herself up in her room.
"Occasionally she would look at me in a peculiar manner. I have often said to myself since then that those who are condemned to death must look thus when they are informed that their last day has come. In her eye there lurked a species of insanity, an insanity at once mystical and violent; and even more, a fever, an aggravated longing, impatient and impotent, for the unattained and unattainable.
"Nay, it seemed to me there was also going on within her a struggle in which her heart wrestled with an unknown force that she sought to master, and even, perhaps, something else. But what do I know? What do I know?
"It was indeed a singular revelation."
The review is to be continued....
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Creative As Always - All The Best In February
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