La plus belle des écritures - Sarn Troisième semaine

Je t'aime déjà, et si c'est ainsi à la saison des arbres morts, qu'est-ce que ce sera lorsqu'ils seront verts

 I thought I would go to a place I knew where there were always mort of dragon–flies, and take comfort from seeing them coming out of their bodies. Dragon–fly, I say, because I doubt some wouldna know what our name for them meant. We called the dragon–fly the ether's mon or ether's nild at Sarn, for it was supposed that where the adder, or ether, lay hid in the grass, there above hovered the ether's mon as a warning. One kind, all blue, we called the kingfisher; and another one, with a very thin body, the darning–needle. Mother was used to tell Gideon that if he took dog's leave or did other mischief the devil would take needle to him and use the dragon–flies to sew up his ears, so he couldna hear the comfortable word of God and would come to damnation. But I could never believe that the devil could have power over such a fair thing as a dragon–fly.

That was the best time of year for our lake, when in the still, hot noons the water looked so kind, being of a calm, pale blue, that you would never think it could drown anybody. All round stood the tall trees, thick–leaved with rich summer green, unstirring, caught in a spell, sending down their coloured shadows into the mere, so that the tree–tops almost met in the middle. From either hand the notes of the small birds that had not yet given up singing went winging out across the water, and so quiet it was that though they were only such thin songs as those of willow wrens and robins, you could hear them all across the mere. Even on such a burning day as this, when I pulled the honeysuckle wrathes, there was a sweet, cool air from the water, very heady and full of life. For though Sarn was an ill place to live, and in the wintry months a very mournful place, at this one time of the year it left one dreaming of sorrow and was as other fair stretches of wood and water. All around the lake stood the tall bulrushes with their stout heads of brown plush, just like a long coat Miss Dorabella had. Within the ring of rushes was another ring of lilies, and at this time of the year they were the most beautiful thing at Sarn, and the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. The big bright leaves lay calm upon the water, and calmer yet upon the leaves lay the lilies, white and yellow. When they were buds, they were like white and gold birds sleeping, head under wing, or like summat carven out of glistering stone, or, as I said afore, they were like gouts of pale wax. But when they were come into full blow they wunna like anything but themselves, and they were so lovely you couldna choose but cry to see them. The yellow ones had more of a spread of petals, having five or six apiece, but the white ones opened their four wider and each petal was bigger. These petals are of a glistening white within, like the raiment of those men who stood with Christ upon the mountain top, and without they are stained with tender green, as if they had taken colour from the green shadows in the water. Some of the dragon–flies look like this also, for their lacy wings without other colour are sometimes touched with shifting green.

So the mere was three times ringed about, as if it had been three times put in a spell. First there was the ring of oaks and larches, willows, ollern trees and beeches, solemn and strong, to keep the world out. Then there was the ring of rushes, sighing thinly, brittle and sparse, but enough, with their long, trembling shadows, to keep the spells in.

Then there was the ring of lilies, as I said, lying there as if Jesus, walking upon the water, had laid them down with His cool hands, afore He turned to the multitude saying, 'Behold the lilies!' And as if they were not enough to shake your soul, there beneath every lily, white and green or pale gold, was her bright shadow, as it had been her angel. And through the long–untroubled day the lilies and their angels looked one upon the other and were content.

There were plenty of dragon–flies about, both big and little. There were the big blue ones that are so strong they will fly over of the top tallest tree if you fritten them, and there were the tiny thin ones that seem almost too small to be called dragon–flies at all. There were rich blue kingfisher flies and those we called damsels, coloured and polished in the manner of lustre ware. There were a good few with clear wings of no colour or of faint green, and a tuthree with a powdery look like you see on the leaves of 'rickluses. Some were tawny, like a fitchet cat, some were rusty or coloured like the copper fruit–kettle. Jewels, they made you think of, precious gems such as be listed in the Bible. And the sound of their wings was loud in the air, sharp and whirring, when they had come to themselves after their agony. Whiles, in some mossy bit of clear ground between the trees, they'd sit about like so many cats round the hearth, very contented in themselves, so you could almost think they were washing their faces and purring.

On a tall rush close by the bank I found one just beginning to come out of its body, and I leaned near, pretty well holding my breath, to see the miracle. Already the skin over its bright, flaming eyes was as thin as glass, so that you could see them shining like coloured lamps. In a little, the old skin split and it got its head out. Then began the wrostling and the travail to get free, first its legs, then its shoulders and soft wrinkled wings. It was like a creature possessed, seeming to fall into a fit, times, and, times, to be struck stiff as a corpse. Just afore the end, it stayed a long while still, as if it was wondering whether it durst get quite free in a world all new. Then it gave a great heave and a kind of bursting wrench and it was out. It clomb a little way further up the bulrush, very sleepy and tired, like a child after a long day at the fair, and fell into a doze, while its wings began to grow. 'Well,' I says, with a bit of a laugh and summat near a bit of a sob, 'well, you've done it! It's cost you summat, but you've won free. I'm in behopes you'll have a pleasant time. I suppose this be your Paradise, binna it?'

L'attitude de ce dernier face à Jancis, qui n'a pas hésité à aller quasiment au bout de ses forces pour l'amour de lui, est vraiment détestable, on dit que l'amour est aveugle mais on aimerait ô combien qu'elle ouvre les yeux sur un homme d'un extérieur agréable mais qui a un cœur de pierre et ne pense qu'à s'enrichir .

du combat entre les chiens et les taureaux et un moment très fort, quelle femme que cette Prue, une vraie amoureuse   .

j'ai apprécié aussi le dialogue teinté d'humour - du côté de Kester, volontiers taquin - entre les deux protagonistes. Ces deux-là sont faits l'un pour l'autre.

Jancis   has quite a powerful personality and is energetic, determined and independent

Prue et Kester au bord de l'étang