All French Texts > French Fully Translated, Reading French: 3rd Level

Georges Bernanos

Dialogues des Carmélites: The Spiritual Advice of Mother Henriette

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I. Introduction

A. The Name

Dialogues des Carmélites is one of the last writings Georges Bernanos worked on before his death in 1948. Its rather odd name is in the nature of a working title. Bernanos had been commissioned to write the speeches for a film, the scenario of which had already been written by someone else based on a novella by the German writer Gertrud von le Fort. The story involved an historical episode, the execution of a convent of French Carmelite nuns in 1794 during the Terror.

In English we tend to think of one person being responsible for the unitary thing, the “script” or “screenplay,” which intermingles a description of what will appear on screen (plus, possibly, incidental noises) with a transcript of what is to be spoken by the actors. In the days of silent cinema, typically one person provided a description of what would appear (that is: the story, the action) and another person provided what was really rather secondary or incidental to the medium: the words, to be presented in intertitles. French terminology has remained faithful to this distinction, to the point that, when the same person does both, you will see Scénario et dialogues de… appearing in the credits.

Bernanos died, and the scenarist and driving force behind the film project (the somewhat maverick Dominican priest R.L. Bruckberger) was out of the country,¹ when the author’s literary executor came upon the text. With the permission of the author of the original novella, he published it in 1949 with the title it is now known by. The purely descriptive title Dialogues des Carmélites took on a life, and a cachet, of its own. When Francis Poulenc used the text by Bernanos as the libretto for an opera (first produced in 1957), he kept this same, odd, title, and when Father Bruckberger at last managed to get the film produced (in 1960), it was called le Dialogue (singular!) des Carmélites.²

B. The Content

The ostensible heroine of the Dialogues des Carmélites, Blanche de la Force, is really too retiring and colorless a character to be a satisfactory protagonist on her own. I am wont to say that the real heroine of the Dialogues is the entire religious community of which this young postulant is a part, or possibly each member of it in relationship (a relationship of exchange) to Blanche. Of these relationships, the first, and most revealing, is that of Blanche with the first Prioress, Mother Henriette of Jesus, who oversees Blanche’s entrance into the convent. This august figure is ill and expires shortly afterwards, but not before expressing to Blanche the fruit of her long experience of the religious life. This she accomplishes in two interviews, one when Blanche first announces her desire to enter the order, and the other when the Prioress is on her deathbed. Both are given here.

What Mother Henriette has to say would have been unusual on anyone’s lips in late 18th-century France, which was not precisely a high point of Western spirituality. In some ways it is like a combination of the teachings of two great similarly-named Church doctors associated with the Carmelite order: the deliberate, severe, total sacrifice of self-will preached by Teresa of Avila (16th century), tempered by the humbler aspirations and childlike self-abandonment characteristic of Thérèse de Lisieux (late 19th century). Of course, what Mother Henriette’s words most closely approximate is the understanding of the spiritual life Bernanos himself had come to in the latter part of his life. Hence the emphasis on spiritual substitution and spiritual childhood in the first conversation, and the multiple themes touched on in the final instruction (non-stoical fear of death; God’s favored poor; the spiritual evil of revolt; the need of tenderness towards oneself; spiritual heroism; and the universal need for honor).

C. The Language

Since these are dialogues in a drama, the French is fairly straightforward; on the other hand, the people speaking are supposed to be educated noble women at the end of the 18th century. (On the third hand, good 18th-century French is very similar to good 20th-century French. All the words and expressions in these passages are worth knowing.)

To work through the French, you will certainly need to know your verbs and their tenses. You might, in addition, review these Language files and topics before beginning:

• Que, etc., and Inversion
• The Construction Ne saurait
• The Definite Demonstrative Pronoun
• Concessive Pour
• Literary subjunctive: Formation and Uses
• Odd uses of the pronominal adverb En
• Ins and outs of the ne…que construction (here and here)

A note on one word: in French the adjective religieux, feminine religieuse, can be used as a substantive to mean “a person ‘in religion’,” that is, a member of a monastery or a religious order. To translate it I have likewise used the English word “religious” as a singular noun, since “nun” (though appropriate for Carmelites) is potentially too narrow a term.

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II. Mother Henriette on the Religious Life

Le parloir, au Carmel de Compiègne. La Prieure et Blanche se parlent de part et d’autre de la double grille qu’obstrue son voile noir. Madame de Croissy, la Prieure, est une vieille femme, visiblement malade. Elle essaie maladroitement de rapprocher son fauteuil de la grille. Elle y parvient avec peine, et dit, un peu essoufflée, en souriant:	The parlor in the Carmelite convent of Compiègne. The Prioress and Blanche are conversing on either side of the double grill occluded by its black veil. Madame de Croissy, the Prioress, is an old woman, visibly ill. She tries clumsily to bring her armchair closer to the grill. She manages to do so with difficulty, and says, a bit out of breath, smiling:
La Prieure. N’allez pas croire que ce fauteuil soit un privilège de ma charge, comme le tabouret des duchesses3 ! Hélas! par charité pour mes chères filles qui en prennent si grand soin, je voudrais m’y sentir à mon aise. Mais il n’est pas facile de retrouver d’anciennes habitudes depuis trop longtemps perdues, et je vois bien que ce qui devrait être un agrément ne sera jamais plus pour moi qu’une humiliante nécessité.	Prioress. Don’t go thinking that this armchair is a privilege of my charge, like a duchess’s stool. Alas, out of charity for my dear daughters who take such great care about it, I would like to feel comfortable in it. But it isn’t easy to take up again habits lost too long ago, and I am well aware that what should be a pleasant accommodation will never again be for me anything but a humiliating necessity.
Blanche. Il doit être doux, ma mère, de se sentir si avancée dans la voie du détachement qu’on ne saurait plus retourner en arrière.	Blanche. It must be sweet, Mother, to feel (oneself) so advanced in the way of detachment that one could never turn back.
Prieure. Ma pauvre enfant, l’habitude finit par détacher de tout. Mais à quoi bon, pour une religieuse, être détachée de tout, si elle n’est pas détachée de soi-même, c’est-à-dire de son propre détachement? (Un silence.) Je vois que les sévérités de notre règle ne vous effraient pas?	Prioress. My poor child, in the end habit detaches you from everything. But what good is it, for a religious,4 to be detached from everything, if she is not detached from herself, that is, from her own detachment? (A silence.) I see that the severities of our rule do not frighten you?
Blanche. Elles m’attirent.	Blanche. They draw me.
Prieure. Oui, oui, vous êtes une âme généreuse. (Un silence.) Retenez pourtant que les obligations les plus légères en apparence sont bien souvent, dans la pratique, les plus pénibles. On franchit une montagne et on bute sur un caillou.	Prioress. Yes, yes, you have a generous soul. (A silence.) Keep in mind however that the obligations that seem the lightest are quite often, in practice, the most burdensome. One crosses over a mountain and one trips over a pebble.
Blanche. Oh! ma Mère, il y a autre chose à craindre que ces petits sacrifices… Elle s’arrête, interdite.	Blanche. Oh, Reverend Mother, there are other things to be feared than these little sacrifices… She stops, unable to go on.
Prieure. Oui-da? Et quels sont ces beaux sujets de crainte?	Prioress. Is that so? And what are these fine subjects of fear?
Blanche (d’une voix de moins en moins assurée). Ma Révérande Mère, je ne saurais… il me serait difficile… ainsi… sur le champ… Mais, avec votre permission, je réfléchirai là-dessus et je vous répondrai plus tard…	Blanche (in a voice that is less and less assured). Reverend Mother, I couldn’t possibly… It would be difficult for me… in this way… just now… But, with your permission, I will think about it and will answer you later…
Prieure. À votre aise… Me répondrez-vous dès maintenant si je vous demande quelle idée vous vous faites de la première obligation d’une Carmélite?	Prioress. As you wish… Will you answer me right now if I ask you what your idea is of the first obligation of a Carmelite?
Blanche. C’est de vaincre la nature.	Blanche. It’s to overcome nature.
Prieure. Fort bien. Vaincre, et non pas forcer, la distinction est de conséquence. A vouloir forcer la nature, on ne réussit qu’à manquer de naturel, et ce que Dieu demande à ses filles, ce n’est pas de donner chaque jour la comédie à Sa Majesté, mais de le servir. Une bonne servante est toujours où elle doit être et ne se fait jamais remarquer.	Prioress. Very good. To overcome, and not to compel by force5 ; the distinction is an important one. In attempting to force nature, one succeeds only in being unnatural, and what God asks of his daughters is not to put on a show every day for His Majesty, but to serve him. A good servant is always where she needs to be and never draws attention to herself.
Blanche. Je ne demande qu’à passer inaperçue…	Blanche. All I ask for is to pass by unnoticed…
Prieure (souriante, avec une pointe d’ironie). Hélas! cela ne s’obtient à la longue, et de le désirer trop vivement ne facilite pas la chose… Vous êtes d’une grande naissance, ma fille, et nous ne vous demandons pas de l’oublier. Pour en avoir renoncé les avantages, vous ne sauriez échapper à toutes les obligations qu’une telle naissance impose, et elles vous paraîtront, ici, plus lourdes qu’ailleurs. (Gesture de Blanche.) Oh! oui, vous brûlez de prendre la dernière place. Méfiez-vous encore de cela, mon enfant… À vouloir trop descendre on risque de passer la mesure. Or, en humilité comme en tout la démesure engendre l’orgueil, et cet orgueil-là est mille fois plus subtil et plus dangereux que celui du monde, qui n’est le plus souvent qu’une vaine gloriole. (Un silence.) Qui6 vous pousse au Carmel?	Prioress (smiling, with a touch7 of irony.). Alas, that’s something that comes only with time, and desiring it too strongly doesn’t help matters… You are of a great birth, my daughter, and we are not asking you to forget it. Even though you have given up its advantages, you could never escape all the obligations imposed by such a birth, and here they will seem heavier to you than elsewhere. (Gesture from Blanche.) Oh, yes, you are on fire to take the last place. Beware of that too, my child… From wanting too much to descend one is liable to exceed proper limits.8 Well now, in humility as in everything excess9 breeds pride, and that pride is a thousand times subtler and more dangerous than the world’s pride, which most often is only a foolish vanity. (A silence.) What is drawing10 you to the Carmelite order?
Blanche. Votre Révérence m’ordonne-t-elle de parler tout à fait franchement?	Blanche. Does your Reverence order me to speak completely frankly?
Prieure. Oui.	Prioress. Yes.
Blanche. Hé bien, l’attrait d’une vie héroïque.	Blanche. Well then: the appeal of an heroic life.
Prieure. L’attrait d’une vie héroïque ou celui d’une certaine manière de vivre qui vous paraît—bien à tort—devoir rendre l’héroïsme plus facile, le mettre pour ainsi dire à la portée de la main?…	Prioress. The appeal of an heroic life, or the appeal of a certain manner of life that seems to you—quite wrongly—bound to make heroism easier, to put it within arms’s reach so to say?…
Blanche. Ma révérende mère, pardonnez-moi, je n’ai jamais fait de tels calculs.	Blanche. Reverend Mother, forgive me, I have never made such calculations.
Prieure. Les plus dangereux de nos calculs sont ceux que nous appelons des illusions…	Prioress. The most dangerous of our calculations are those that we call illusions…
Blanche. Je puis avoir des illusions. Je ne demanderais pas mieux qu’on m’en dépouille.	Blanche. I may have illusions. I ask nothing better than for someone to rid me of them.
Prieure. Qu’on vous en dépouille… (Elle appuie sur ces mots.) Il faudra vous charger seule de ce soin, ma fille. Chacune ici a déjà trop à faire de ses propres illusions. N’allez pas vous imaginer que le premier devoir de notre état soit de nous venir en aide les unes aux autres, afin de nous rendre plus agréables au divin Maître, comme ces jeunes personnes qui échangent leur poudre et leur rouge avant de paraître pour le bal. Notre affaire est de prier, comme l’affaire d’une lampe est d’éclairer. Il ne viendrait à l’esprit de personne d’allumer une lampe pour en éclairer une autre. « Chacun pour soi », telle est la loi du monde, et la nôtre lui ressemble un peu: « Chacun pour Dieu! » Pauvre petite! Vous avez rêvé de cette maison comme un enfant craintif, que viennent de mettre au lit les servantes, rêve dans sa chambre obscure à la salle commune, à sa lumière, à sa chaleur. Vous ne savez rien de la solitude où une véritable religieuse est exposé à vivre et à mourir. Car on compte un certain nombre de vraies religieuses, mais bien davantage de médiocres et d’insipides. Allez, allez! ici comme ailleurs le mal reste le mal, et pour être faite d’innocents laitages, une crème corrompue ne doit pas moins soulever le cœur qu’une viande avancée… Oh! mon enfant, il n’est pas selon l’esprit de Carmel de s’attendrir, mais je suis vieille et malade, me voilà près de ma fin, je puis bien m’attendrir sur vous… De grandes épreuves vous attendent, ma fille.	Prioress. For someone to rid you of them… (She emphasizes these words.) You alone must take responsibility for that task, my daughter. Each of us here is already too busy just taking care of her own illusions. Don’t go imagining that the first duty of our state is to come to each other’s aid, so as to make each other more agreeable to our divine Master—like these young ladies who trade their powder and their rouge before appearing at the ball. Our business is to pray, in the same way that the business of a lamp is to illumine. It would never occur to anyone to light a lamp so as to illumine another lamp. “Everyone for himself,” such is the law of the world, and ours resembles it a little: “Everyone for God!” Poor little one! You have dreamed of this house the way a fearful child, whom the servants have just put to bed, dreams in his dark bedroom of the common room, of its light, its warmth. You know nothing of the solitude in which a real religious11 is exposed to living and to dying. For one counts a certain number of true religious, but many more mediocre and insipid ones. Come, come! Here, as elsewhere, evil remains evil, and although it may have begun as an innocent dairy product12, cream that’s gone bad is bound to make a person gag as much as rotten meat… Oh, my child, it is not according to the spirit of the Carmelite order to become sentimental, but I am old and sick, I am very near to my end, and surely I may grow sentimental over you… Great trials await you, my daughter.
Blanche. Qu’importe, si Dieu me donne la force. Silence.	Blanche. What does it matter, if God gives me the strength. Silence.
Prieure. Ce qu’il veut éprouver en vous, n’est pas votre force, mais votre faiblesse… (Silence.) Les scandales que donne le monde ont ceci de bon qu’ils révoltent les âmes comme la vôtre. Ceux que vous trouverez ici vous décevront. À tout prendre, ma fille, l’état d’une religieuse médiocre me paraît plus déplorable que celui d’un brigand. Le brigand peut se convertir, et ce sera pour lui comme une seconde naissance. La religieuse médiocre, elle, n’a plus à naître, elle est née, elle a manqué sa naissance, et, sauf un miracle, elle restera toujours un avorton.	Prioress. What he wants to test in you is not your strength, but your weakness. (Silence.) The scandals the world produces have this to be said for them, they cause souls like yours to rise up in revolt. The scandals you will find here will (merely) dishearten13 you. Everything considered, my daughter, the state of a mediocre religious seems to me more deplorable than that of a brigand. The brigand can be converted, and it will be for him like a second birth. The mediocre religious, in contrast, has no more to do with birth; she is already born. She has botched her birth, and, save for a miracle, she will always remain a miscarriage.
Blanche. Oh! ma Mère, je ne voudrais voir ici que le bien…	Blanche. Oh, Reverend Mother, I should like to see nothing but good here…
Prieure. Qui s’aveugle volontairement sur le prochain, sous prétexte de charité, ne fait souvent rien autre chose que de briser le miroir afin de ne pas se voir dedans. Car l’infirmité de notre nature veut que ce soit d’abord en autrui que nous découvrions nos propres misères. Prenez garde de vous laisser gagner par je ne sais quelle bienveillance niaise qui amollit le cœur et fausse l’esprit. (Silence.) Ma fille, les bonnes gens se demandent à quoi nous servons, et après tout ils sont bien excusables de se le demander. Nous croyons leur apporter, grâce à nos austérités, la preuve qu’on peut parfaitement se passer de bien des choses qu’ils jugent indispensables. Mais pour que l’exemple fût efficace, il faudrait encore, après tout, qu’ils fussent sûrs que ces choses nous étaient aussi indispensables qu’à eux-mêmes… Non, ma fille, nous ne sommes pas une entreprise de mortification ou des conservatoires de vertus, nous sommmes des maisons de prière, la prière seule justifie notre existence, qui ne croit pas à la prière ne peut nous tenir que pour des imposteurs ou des parasites. Si nous le disions plus franchement aus impies, nous nous ferious mieux comprendre. Ne sont-ils pas forcés de reconnaître que la croyance en Dieu est un fait universel? N’est-ce pas une contradiction bien étrange que les hommes puissent tout ensemble croire en Dieu, et le prier si peu et si mal? Ils ne lui font guère que l’honneur de le craindre. Si la croyance en Dieu est universelle, ne faut-il pas qu’il en soit autant de la prière? Eh bien, ma fille, Dieu a voulu qu’il en soit ainsi, non pas en faisant d’elle, aux dépens de notre liberté, un besoin aussi impérieux que la faim ou la soif, mais en permettant que nous puissions prier les uns à la place des autres. Ainsi chaque priere, fût-ce celle d’un petit pâtre qui garde ses bêtes, c’est la prière du genre humain. (Court silence.) Ce que le petit pâtre fait de temps en temps, et par un mouvement de son cœur, nous devons le faire jour et nuit. Non point que nous espérions prier mieux que lui, au contraire. Cette simplicité de l’âme, ce tendre abandon à la Majesté divine qui est chez lui une inspiration du moment, une grâce, et comme l’illumination du génie, nous consacrons notre vie à l’acquérir, ou à le retrouver si nous l’avons connu, car c’est un don de l’enfance qui le plus souvent ne survit pas à l’enfance… Une fois sorti de l’enfance, il faut très longtemps souffrir pour y rentrer, comme tout au bout de la nuit on retrouve une autre aurore. Suis-je redevenue enfant?… Blanche pleure. Vous pleurez?	Prioress. Whoever blinds herself regarding her neighbor often is doing nothing other than breaking the mirror so as not to see herself in it. For the infirmity of our nature likes for us to see our own miseries first in others. Take care not to let yourself be won over by some idiotic kindheartedness that softens the heart and deforms the intelligence. (Silence.) My daughter, the simple folk wonder what purpose we serve, and after all they are very excusable for so wondering. We imagine that we bring to them, thanks to our austerities, the proof that one can perfectly well do without the things they consider indispensable. But for the example to be effective, after all, they would have to be sure that these things were as indispensable to us as to them… No, my daughter, we are not an enterprise of mortification or conservatories of virtues, we are houses of prayer. Prayer alone justifies our existence; whoever doesn’t believe in prayer can hold us only for imposters or parasites. If we said it more frankly to the impious, we would make ourselves better understood. Are they not forced to recognize that belief in God is a universal fact? Is it not a very strange contradiction that human beans can at the same time believe in God, and pray to him so little and so ill? They scarcely do him anything other than the honor of fearing him.14 If belief in God is universal, must not the same be true of prayer? Well now, my daughter, God has decided that it should be so, not by making of prayer, at the expense of our freedom, a need as imperious as hunger or thirst, but by allowing us to be able to pray in each other’s place. Hence, each prayer, were it that of a little shepherd boy guarding his sheep, is the prayer of the entire human race. (Short silence.) What the little shepherd boy does from time to time, and through an impulse of his heart, we must do it day and night. Not that we would hope to pray better than he, on the contrary. That simplicity of soul, that tender abandonment to the divine Majesty which is in him an inspiration of the moment, a grace, and as it were the illumination of genius, we dedicate our lives to acquiriing it, or of finding it again if we have known it, for it is a gift of childhood that most often does not survive childhood… Once out of childhood, it is necessary to suffer a very long time to (be able to) go back inside it, as at the very end of the night one discovers yet another dawn. Have I become a child again?… Blanche cries. Are you crying?
Blanche. Je pleure moins de peine que de joie. Vos paroles sont dures, mais je sens que de plus dures encore ne sauraient briser l’élan qui me porte vers vous. Je n’ai pas d’autre refuge, en effet.	Blanche. I am crying less from sorrow than from joy. Your words are hard, but I feel that even harder ones couldn’t possibly destroy the eagerness I feel to join you.15 I have no other refuge, in point of fact.
Prieure. Notre règle n’est pas un refuge. Ce n’est pas la règle qui nous garde, ma fille, c’est nous qui gardons la règle. Dites-moi encore: avez-vous, par extraordinaire, déjà choisi votre nom de carmélite, au cas où nous vous admettrions à la probation? Mais, sans doute, n’y avez-vous jamais pensé?	Prioress. Our rule is not a refuge. It is not the rule that keeps us, my daughter; it is we who keep the rule. Tell me this too: have you, which is very unlikely, already chosen your religious name, in case we admit you to probation? But, no doubt, you have never thought of it?
Blanche. Si fait, ma mère. Je voudrais m’appeler soeur Blanche de l’Agonie du Christ.	Blanche. On the contrary, I have, Mother. I would like to be called Sister Blanche of the Agony of Christ.
La Prieure sursaute imperceptiblement. Elle paraît hésiter un moment, ses lèvres remuent, puis son visage exprime tout à coup la fermeté tranquille d’une personne qui a pris sa décision.	The Prioress starts imperceptibly. She seems to hesitate for a moment, her lips move, then all at once her face expresses the tranquil firmness of a person who has made her decision.
Prieure. Allez en paix, ma fille.	Prioress. Go in peace, my daughter.

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III. Mother Henriette on Death, Poverty, Revolt, and Honor

Blanche se jette de nouveau à genoux et sanglotte. La Prieure pose la main sur sa tête.	Blanche throws herself down on her knees again and sobs. The Prioress places her hand on Blanche’s head.
La Prieure. Je ne puis donner maintenant que ma mort, une très pauvre mort… (Silence.) Dieu se glorifie dans ses saints, ses héros et ses martyrs. Il se glorifie aussi dans ses pauvres.	Prioress. I can give now only my death, a very poor death… (Silence.) God is glorified in his saints, his heroes, and his martyrs. He is also glorified in his poor.
Blanche. Je n’ai pas peur de la pauvreté.	Blanche. I am not afraid of poverty.
Prieure. Oh! il y a bien des sortes de pauvreté, jusqu’à la plus misérable, et c’est de cette sorte-là que vous serez rassasiée … (Silence.) Mon enfant, quoi qu’il advienne ne sortez pas de la simplicité. À lire nos bons livres, on pourrait croire que Dieu éprouve les saints comme un forgeron une barre de fer pour en mesurer la force. Il arrive pourtant aussi qu’un tanneur éprouve entre ses paumes une peau de daim pour en apprécier la souplesse. Oh! ma fille, soyez toujours cette chose douce et maniable dans Ses mains! Les saints ne se raidissaient pas contre les tentations, ils ne se révoltaient pas contre eux-mêmes, la révolte est toujours une chose du diable, et surtout ne vous méprisez jamais! Il est très difficile de se mépriser sans offenser Dieu en nous. Sur ce point-là aussi nous devons bien nous garder de prendre à la lettre certains propos des saints, le mépris de vous-même vous conduirait tout droit au désespoir, souvenez-vous de ces paroles, bien qu’elles vous paraissent maintenant obscures. Et pour tout résumer d’un mot qui ne se trouve plus jamais sur nos lèvres, bien que nos cœurs ne l’aient pas renié, en quelque conjoncture que ce soit, pensez que votre honneur est à la garde de Dieu. Dieu a pris votre honneur en charge, et il est plus en sûreté dans Ses mains que dans les vôtres. Relevez-vous cette fois pour tout de bon. À Dieu, je vous bénis. À Dieu, ma petite enfant…	Prioress. Oh, there are many kinds of poverty, including the most wretched of all; and that is the kind you will be filled with… (Silence.) My child, whatever happens, do not depart from simplicity. To read our good books, one might believe that God tests his saints in the way a blacksmith does an iron bar, so as to determine its strength. But it can also happen that a tanner tests a deerskin between his palms to appreciate its suppleness. Oh, my daughter, be always that mild and malleable thing in his hands! The saints do not stiffen themselves against temptations, they do not revolt against themselves, revolt is always a thing of the devil, and above all never despise yourself! It is very difficult to despise oneself without offending God in us. On this point, too, we must take care not to interpret literally certain statements of the saints; contempt for yourself would take you straight to despair, remember these words, although they (may) seem obscure to you now. And to sum everything up in one word that you never hear on our lips any more, even though our hearts have never denied it: in any circumstances whatever, think that your honor is in God’s keeping. God has taken your honor in charge, and it is safer in his hands than in yours. Get up again, this time for good. Farewell, I bless you. Farewell, my little child…

1. In 1948 he was more or less exiled to North Africa by his order and did not return to France for a decade.[↩]
2. On the IMDb it is given the English title The Carmelites.[↩]
3. In the Ancien Régime, a mark of how noble you were was whether you could sit (and what you could sit on) in the presence of royalty.[↩]
4. OR: “a nun”[↩]
5. Or more simply: “to vanquish, not to force”[↩]
6. In modern French the interrogative form “qui” by itself cannot mean “what” as a subject. You have to say “qu’est-ce qui” (= what is it that). “Qui” by itself can only mean “Who.” But it was not so in older French, and “qui” could mean “what.”[↩]
7. Or, if you prefer: “a pinprick”[↩]
8. Literally: “to pass beyond the mesure”[↩]
9. “lack of measure, lack of moderation”[↩]
10. Literally: “pushing”[↩]
11. I.e., a nun.[↩]
12. Literally: “For having been made of innocent dairy products.” See the Language file Concessive Pour.[↩]
13. More usually: “disappoint.”[↩]
14. See the Language topics When Negative Particles Accumulate and Ne…que Combined with Other Negative Particles.[↩]
15. More literally: “could not break the impulse/momentum bearing me towards you.”[↩]

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