Free Letters From My Windmill by Alphonse Daudet, Frederick Davies Page B

Cucugnan….
    "—Oh! God's teeth! you're playing the idiot, you; it's as though you
didn't know that the whole of Cucugnan is here. Well, ugly crow, watch
and you will see how things are here with your precious
Cucugnanians…."
    * * * * *
    "And I saw, in the middle of a terrible, flaming vortex of flame:
    "The lanky Coq-Galine—you all knew him, my brothers—Coq-Galine, who
was regularly drunk, and so often knocked ten bells out of his poor
Clairon.
    "I saw Catarinet … that little vixen … with her nose in the air …
who slept alone in the barn…. You remember that, you rascals!…
But let's move on, I've said too much already.
    "I saw Pascal Doigt-de-Poix, who made his olive oil—with monsieur
Julien's olives!
    "I saw Babet the gleaner, who, as she gleaned, grabbed handfuls from
the stacks to make up her quota!
    "I saw Master Grapasi, who oiled his wheelbarrow rather a lot, so as
not to be heard!
    "And Dauphine, who greatly overcharged for water from her wells.
    "And le Tortillard, who, when he met me carrying the Good Lord, rushed
away, with his biretta perched on his head and his pipe stuck in his
mouth … as proud as Lucifer … as though he had come across a mangy
dog.
    "And Coulau with his Zette, and Jacques, and Pierre, and Toni…."
    * * * * *
    Much moved and ashen with fear, the congregation whimpered, while
imagining their fathers, and their mothers and their grandmothers and
their sisters, when hell's gates were opened….
    —Your feelings don't deceive you, brothers, the good abbot continued,
you sense that this can't go on. I am responsible for your souls, and I
do want to save you from the abyss towards which you are rushing
helter-skelter and head first.
    "Tomorrow, at the latest, my task begins. And the work will not be in
vain! This is how I am going to go about it. For it to come out well,
everything must be done in an orderly way. We will proceed step by
step, like at Jonquières when there's a dance.
    "Tomorrow, Monday. I will give confession to the old men and women.
Nothing much there.
    "Tuesday. The children. I'll soon have done.
    "Wednesday. The young men and women. That might take a long time.
    "Thursday. The men. We'd better cut that short.
    "Friday. The women. I will tell them, not to build up their parts!
    "Saturday. The miller. A day mightn't be enough for him.
    "And, if we've finished by Sunday, we'll have done very well.
    "Look, my children, when wheat is ripe, it must be harvested, when the
wine is drawn, it must be drunk. We've had enough of dirty washing,
what matters now is to wash it, and to wash it well.
    "May you all receive God's loving grace. Amen! "
    * * * * *
    He was as good as his word. The washing was duly done.
    From that memorable Sunday, the sweet smell of Cucugnanian virtue was
heady for many kilometres around.
    And the good priest, Monsieur Martin, happy and full of joy, dreamt one
night that he was followed by all his flock, as he ascended in a
candle-lit, resplendent procession, clouded in fragrant incense, with
choir boys chanting the Te Deum. They were all following the light to
the City of God.
    There you are; the story of the priest of Cucugnan, as I was told by
the great colloquial writer Roumanille, who had it himself from some
other good fellow.

THE OLD FOLKS
    —A letter, Father Azan?
    —Yes, monsieur…. It's from Paris.
    The good Father Azan was so proud that it came from Paris. Not me
though. A little bird told me that this unexpected early-morning
letter, which had just fallen into my lap, was going to cost me the
rest of the day. I was not wrong, as you will see.
    I must ask you for a favour, friend. I want you to lock up your
windmill for the day and go directly to Eyguières. Eyguières is a large
market town a few kilometres from here—an easy walk. When you get
there, ask for the convent of the orphans. The first house after the
convent is a single storey house with grey shutters and a small
back-garden. Don't knock, just go in—the door is