WHITE
Cet unanime blanc conflit
D’une guirland avec la même.
S. Mallarmé.
There were once two children of the same age, a little boy and a little girl. They loved each other very much, were never happy apart, and their playing had much tenderness in it. In the game of hide-and-seek, whenever the little girl was caught, she would fall into the arms of her friend, throw her head back, lower her eyes, half-open her mouth; and if the kisses were not showered upon her, she would demand them or go in search of them, raising her mouth gracefully to his timid or distracted lips. They had just completed their tenth year.
One day when it was very warm, they removed their socks and went splashing into the stream. They became very wet and went to dry themselves in the sun on the warm grass. The sight of their little rosy legs and wet knees excited their curiosity. They made comparisons, and the little boy had the good sense to notice that his skin was less smooth. “And not so tender,” he said; and his hands were in agreement with his eyes.
They recommenced next day, and read more with each day. Their kisses, now accompanied by soft caresses, sent the blood to their heads. But an instant later they thought no more of it and broke out in innocent laughter. They were happy.
With the coming of the first cold and rainy days they transferred their games to a big half-empty room, left entirely to them. The little boy, who was attending school, came to pass his time at his friend’s house. The little girl was receiving instruction at home. Whenever the weather was bad, the little boy took lessons together with her. Their parents, with an eye on the future, noticed with pleasure the childish intimacy of the two pupils.
Toward the month of September a curé came to the house, and was taken by the mother into the large room where the children were at play. They brought him an armchair and a foot-stool. He sat down, pulled out his snuff-box, blew his nose, took a good pinch of snuff, and began to talk of God. They knew the topic very well, but the little girl became attentive when the priest turned to her and said:
“My child, I hope you will soon make the acquaintance of your creator. You know how much he loves you and also how much you love Him. Pure hearts always love the kind God. But true love requires greater intimacy and greater sacrifice. Jesus will come to you and you must submit to Him with trust. You will feel the sacred embrace of your creator. In a word, my dear little girl, we are going to prepare you for your first communion.”
“And I?” asked the little boy.
“Listen,” said the priest, “and profit by my words. You know,” he continued, turning again to the little girl, “the whole importance of such an act. Catechism teaches you the grandeur of this sacrament. What mystery in the union of the creator and the created! This union is achieved by the Eucharist, and brings to those who know how to prepare themselves for it and how to render themselves worthy of it, the ineffable joys of divine love....”
He spoke a long time, and the frigidity of his speech contrasted strangely with the exalted sentiments he was expressing. Every minute he unfolded a big red, dirty handkerchief, opened his snuff-box, took a pinch, spat, sneezed. The little girl understood nothing of all the grandiloquence on love retailed by the old automaton; however, he spoke of love, and this word even in such a mouth charmed her and made her tremble a little.
Her confessor did not as yet question her on the sixth commandment, but at the approach of the great day he departed from his usual reserve and indifference. His questions, very precise and in conformity with the church manual, interested the little girl very much. Her heart bled reflecting upon them. Then all that was sin! These games, kisses, fondling, caresses—sins! The priest did not, however, apprise her of anything through which might have lost her innocence without knowing it.
One afternoon, she refused a kiss of her friend, and went, without further explanation, to kneel in a corner of her room. Then she took out a book and began to read: “Let us have faith to remove all obstacles that prevent the coming of Christ within us. Let us prepare Him a sanctuary, pure, adorned, kindled with love; and when He comes we can say in the fervor of our joy: ‘My beloved is mine, He rests in my heart’....”
She pronounced these last words aloud. The little boy heard them and asked in tears:
“You don’t love me any more, then?”
“You cannot understand these things. I like you as a brother, as a little friend; I have great affection for you, but my love belongs to Jesus.”
“To Jesus!”
He shrugged his shoulders, vexed in his affliction.
“Jesus loves me, how can I fail to love Him. He is courting me, how can I resist Him? Don’t you know that He is Almighty, that He can grind both of us to dust, at this very moment?”
“Is that true?”
He reflected, overwhelmed, upon this stranger so powerful and so cruel who came to take his friend away, to break his heart.
“Ah! Let Him kill me, but let Him not take you away!”
“He won’t take me away. Did He take Angela, Laura, Juliette whom He loved last year and who are still happy?”
“Then he won’t always love you?”
“He will always love me but from a distance; and I will love Him. But I am not the only one on this earth and He has to reach the hearts of all the little girls who have their first communion.”
“Does he also reach the hearts of little boys?”
“I don’t think so,” she said in a tone of irony. “He cannot offer little boys anything more than good, firm friendship.”
“I will never love Him.”
“You will have to love Him, when your heart is pure. You’ll see.”
“Ah!”
“I have a pure heart. I confessed all my sins!”
“What sins?”
“Be still and ask God’s forgiveness.”
She turned again to her prayers.
Her friend was lost in thought.
Less mature than little girls, little boys have their first communion a year later than girls of the same age. It was a custom; he did not feel himself humiliated by it. Still he was very anxious to participate in the mysteries into which his friend was going to be initiated. He was resentful both through jealousy and fear.
“I hope,” he thought, “He doesn’t do her any harm!”
The great day arrived. He saw his little friend pale and pretty in a cloud of muslin. Coming near her, he whispered:
“How I do love you!”
She lowered her eyes and began to roll the rosary between her hands gloved in white. She passed without answering him, without looking at him. He was sad throughout the ceremony. The reading of the acts braced him up a little, but his heart broke when he heard the voice of his friend:
“Oh, my wealth, my treasure, my life, my paradise, my love, my all, receive a heart burning with love.... Oh, my treasure, I want to live and die in endless communion with you!... My well-beloved is mine and I am His. Oh, Jesus, I do not want to be my own, I want to be yours. Let all my faculties be yours and let them serve your pleasure....”
“Ingrate!” he thought. He felt a spasm of anger. Then he recalled the enchanting moments spent with his friend, their games, their laughter, those long kisses which left them breathless, those embraces out of which they came blushing, skin burning, eyes moist....
“Someone else will now give her all these pleasures! And I am going to be alone.... She does not love me any more....”
The little girl had the honor to speak again after communion. She returned to her place first from the ceremony, fell on her knees, hid her face in her hands, and remained long absorbed in thought. A powerful sentiment was weighing her down. She felt sad and happy:
“He is within me, I feel Him in my heart.... My heart is expanding.... I am choking with joy.... I am loved, I am loved.... Is this you, my love? Oh! Rest in my arms, clasp me to you again, again! Ah! My heart is faint.... My head is reeling.... Ah! Ah! what emotion! I am going to confess my love for Him aloud. I am very happy, very proud.... Do you love me? He loves me.”
And she rose and said:
“Oh, kind Savior, I have devoted myself to you, You have devoted yourself to me. I want to sacrifice to You all my earthly pleasures. I sacrifice to You my body, my soul, my will. This is all I have to offer, alas! If I had more I would give more, I would like to die for You.... Kindle me with Your love. But I cannot be pleased with a spark, I want a tongue of flame, I want a thousand of them, I want a conflagration which would destroy within me all attachment to living creatures.... Vain creatures, leave me alone, you will no longer see me. My heart belongs entirely to my well-beloved....”
“She does not love me any more,” he thought, “she will never love me again.”
He cried. His neighbors thought it was from piety.
In the meantime the Mass was being finished and one could already hear the moving of chairs in the back of the church. The little girl reborn through love was also devoured by hunger. Then she thought of her home, her parents, her friend, of the fine ceremonial table sparkling with flowers, crystals, silverware; she thought of the kitchen and the cook. She was sure that a fine plate of soup was already being cooled for her.
“After that I shall eat a little cake.... My friend will be there anxious to wait upon me.... I like him very much.... We shall take a walk while waiting for the vespers. We shall pick some flowers, nothing but white, white like my veil, like my heart. I am happy!”
The little boy ran to the house of his friend where his own family breakfasted that day. He came to notify the cook. And in the pantry were two portions of soup, two wonderful tarts, and two glasses of wine.
When the little girl arrived, he took her hand and she allowed him to lead her. At the sight of the little dinner all prepared, her little, feminine heart leaped with joy. She fell on the neck of the little boy and embracing him with all her strength, said:
“You know, Jesus is my mystic spouse, but this will not last long. While He still loves me, tell me what you want, He will not refuse anything to his little spouse.”
“I want you to love me as before.”
“Here,” she said.
And she offered her lips.
“Are you satisfied? Let us eat now, I am hungry.”