Free Fermina Marquez (1911) by Valery Larbaud Page B

the invocation to the shades of Cato! There was enough in this to die of shame. He would have liked to disavow these phrases. At least if he had written them, he could have erased them with a rubber. But there is no rubber in the world that can erase in other people's memories what we have said to them. He ought to have apologized for that Latin quotation as well. But what must have shocked her deeply was the disparagement of his fellow citizens and the repudiation of his country.
"This must seem monstrous to that poor girl! There can be nothing more conservative than a woman; her ideas are always a generation behind the times at least!"
When he had jeered at the crassness of the provincial republican from the pinnacle of his intellect, how her sense of decency, her loathsome, insulted sense of decency had quivered within her! What, she was the same on all counts as the "manufactured product" who had excited his anger. Then he regretted he had not shocked her more, had not goaded her to snapping point. It was a game: with a few well-chosen paradoxes you could scourge the wits of fools: first of all, they lost their tempers and then they ended up by howling like dogs. Oh! What pleasant little parlour games!
A fool? But what was meant by that? Did this distinction he drew so clearly correspond with reality? It was truly an oversimplification to say that there were two types of people: those without and those with brains, and naturally to number oneself amongst the latter! And yet classical poets considered it a virtue to hold the vulgar herd in contempt. Ah! He was tired of these reflections. The truth was that there were certain things which were not for anybody's ears. Just as one did not take exceptional pains to dress up to go into town, because of the street urchins' chorus of shrieks, so the unusual thoughts one had should not be revealed to anybody whomsoever: one might hear the words: "Oh! Mr Leniot, it isn't right to speak in such a manner."
And he who thought he had found, if not a lover, at least a friend, a companion to whom there would be nothing he could not say, an equal! An equal! — fine! He was once again sinking back into his theories about human stupidity. He had displeased her and that was all there was to it.
On the next day he apologized the best he could: "Yesterday evening I distressed you deeply with my paradoxes and I was so ill-mannered as to quote Latin. Admit that I really bored you?"
"No, not at all. I do assure you; and you didn't distress me the least bit."
"You are very kind to say that to me. But from now on, we shall be good friends shan't we? ... I would so much like you to remember things favourably."
She said nothing in reply. He felt a long way away from her, altogether alien to her life. But this impression soon passed.
They never again alluded to this incident.

 
XV
    A few days afterwards he returned The Life of Saint Rose of Lima to her. In this book he had come across several of the most vivid expressions which she had used in their conversations, for example, "the Cross's narrow and hard bed". He could have mentioned this to her but he was afraid he would upset her too much. Assuming despite himself an air of self-importance, he contented himself by saying: "It's an old Spanish translation of the Acts of the Saints. Its Castillian is redolent of the end of the Golden Age."
"You know about Spanish literature as well? You are a true scholar Mr Leniot ..."
"Oh! Mademoiselle ..."
She was not poking fun at him; she had even endeavoured to invest her question with a tone of respect. Joanny was puffed up with pride.
"Yes really: Mr Santos Iturria said one day in my presence that you were the best pupil in the school."
So he tried to explain the grading of the prepared work, the compositions, the roll of honour to her. But in this he was overeager and it was immediately plain that he attached too much importance to it. Outside school, all that meant nothing whatsoever, was indeed hardly