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The Blue Castle | Progressive French B1 Translation Books

The Blue Castle | Progressive French B1 Translation Books

Discover the advantages of this innovative translation method, designed to cater to your learning needs. You can select your preferred difficulty level, ensuring a well-balanced challenge that isn't too overwhelming. This technique sharpens your comprehension skills by encouraging you to derive meaning from context, minimizing the need for direct translations. While some words are purposefully obscured to promote contextual guessing, looking up unclear terms is always an option. With this method, language learning becomes both accessible and enjoyable, blending challenge with support. Explore translated classics and experience the excitement of learning through literature.

CHAPTERI
IfithadnotrainedonacertainMaymorningValancyStirling’swholelifewouldhavebeenentirelydifferent.
Shewouldhavegone,withtherestofherclan,toAuntWellington’sengagementpicnicandDr.TrentwouldhavegonetoMontreal.
Butitdidrainandyoushallhearwhathappenedtoherbecauseofit.
Valancywakenedearly,inthelifeless,hopelesshourjustprecedingdawn.
Shehadnotsleptverywell.
Onedoesnotsleepwell,sometimes,whenoneistwenty-nineonthemorrow,andunmarried,ina
communauté
communityandconnectionwheretheunmarriedaresimplythosewhohavefailedtogetaman.
DeerwoodandtheStirlingshadlongsincerelegatedValancytohopelessoldmaidenhood.
ButValancyherselfhadneverquiterelinquishedacertainpitiful,shamed,littlehopethatRomancewouldcomeherwayyet—never,untilthis
humide
wet,horriblemorning,whenshewakenedtothefactthatshewastwenty-nineandunsoughtbyanyman.
Ay,therelaythesting.
Valancydidnotmindsomuchbeinganoldmaid.
Afterall,shethought,beinganoldmaidcouldn’tpossiblybeasdreadfulasbeingmarriedtoanUncleWellingtonoranUncleBenjamin,orevenanUncleHerbert.
Whathurtherwasthatshehadneverhadachancetobeanythingbutanoldmaid.
Nomanhadeverdesiredher.
Thetearscameintohereyesasshelaytherealoneinthefaintlygreyingdarkness.
Shedarednotletherselfcryashardasshewantedto,fortworeasons.
Shewasafraidthatcryingmightbringonanotherattackofthatpainaroundtheheart.
Shehadhadaspellofitaftershehadgotintobed—ratherworsethananyshehadhadyet.
Andshewasafraidhermotherwouldnoticeherredeyesatbreakfastandkeepatherwithminute,persistent,mosquito-likequestionsregardingthecausethereof.
“Suppose,”thoughtValancywithaghastlygrin,“Iansweredwiththeplaintruth,‘IamcryingbecauseIcannotgetmarried.’HowhorrifiedMotherwouldbe—thoughsheis
honte
ashamedeverydayofherlifeofherold
servante
maiddaughter.”
Butofcourseappearancesshouldbekeptup.
“Itisnot,”Valancycouldhearhermother’sprim,dictatorialvoiceasserting,“itisnotmaidenlytothinkaboutmen.”
Thethoughtofhermother’sexpressionmadeValancylaugh—forshehadasenseofhumournobodyinherclan
soupçonnait
suspected.
Forthatmatter,therewereagoodmanythingsaboutValancythatnobody
soupçonnait
suspected.
Butherlaughterwasverysuperficialandpresentlyshelaythere,ahuddled,futilelittlefigure,listeningtotherainpouringdownoutsideandwatching,withasickdistaste,thechill,mercilesslightcreepingintoherugly,sordidroom.
Sheknewtheuglinessofthatroombyheart—knewitandhatedit.
Theyellow-paintedfloor,withonehideous,“hooked”rugbythebed,withagrotesque,“hooked”dogonit,alwaysgrinningatherwhenshe
réveille
awoke;
thefaded,dark-redpaper;
theceilingdiscolouredbyoldleaksandcrossedbycracks;
thenarrow,pinchedlittlewashstand;
thebrown-paperlambrequinwithpurplerosesonit;
thespottedoldlooking-glasswiththe
fissure
crackacrossit,proppedupontheinadequatedressing-table;
thejarofancientpotpourrimadebyhermotherinhermythicalhoneymoon;
theshell-coveredbox,withoneburst
coin
corner,whichCousinStickleshadmadeinherequallymythicalgirlhood;
thebeadedpincushionwithhalfitsbeadfringegone;
theonestiff,
jaune
yellowchair;
thefadedoldmotto,“Gonebutnotforgotten,”workedincolouredyarnsaboutGreat-grand-motherStirling’sgrimoldface;
theoldphotographsofancientrelativeslongbanishedfromtherooms
dessous
below.
Therewereonlytwopicturesthatwerenotofrelatives.
One,anoldchromoofapuppysittingonarainydoorstep.
ThatpicturealwaysmadeValancy
malheureux
unhappy.
Thatforlornlittledogcrouchedonthedoorstepinthedrivingrain!
Whydidn’tsomeoneopenthedoorandlethimin?
Theotherpicturewasafaded,passe-partoutedengravingofQueenLouisecomingdownastairway,whichAuntWellingtonhadlavishlygivenheronhertenthbirthday.
Fornineteenyearsshehadlookedatitandhatedit,beautiful,smug,self-satisfiedQueenLouise.
Butsheneverdared
détruire
destroyitorremoveit.
MotherandCousinStickleswouldhavebeenaghast,or,asValancyirreverently
exprimé
expresseditinherthoughts,wouldhavehadafit.
Everyroominthehousewasugly,ofcourse.
Butdownstairsappearanceswerekeptupsomewhat.
Therewasnomoneyforroomsnobodyeversaw.
Valancysometimesfeltthatshecouldhavedonesomethingforherroomherself,evenwithoutmoney,ifshewerepermitted.
ButhermotherhadnegativedeverytimidsuggestionandValancydidnotpersist.
Valancyneverpersisted.
Shewasafraidto.
Hermothercouldnotbrookopposition.
Mrs.Stirlingwouldsulkfordaysifoffended,withtheairsofaninsultedduchess.
TheonlythingValancylikedaboutherroomwasthatshecouldbealonethereatnighttocryifshewantedto.
But,afterall,whatdiditmatterifaroom,whichyouusedfornothingexceptsleepinganddressingin,wereugly?
Valancywasneverpermittedtostayaloneinherroomforanyotherpurpose.
Peoplewhowantedtobealone,soMrs.FrederickStirlingandCousinSticklesbelieved,couldonlywanttobealoneforsomesinister
but
purpose.
ButherroomintheBlue
Château
Castlewaseverythingaroomshouldbe.
Valancy,socowedandsubduedandoverriddenandsnubbedinreallife,waswonttoletherselfgorathersplendidlyinherday-dreams.
NobodyintheStirlingclan,oritsramifications,
soupçonnait
suspectedthis,leastofallhermotherandCousinStickles.
TheyneverknewthatValancyhadtwohomes—theuglyredbrickboxofahome,onElmStreet,andtheBlue
Château
CastleinSpain.
ValancyhadlivedspirituallyintheBlue
Château
Castleeversinceshecouldremember.
Shehadbeenaverytinychildwhenshefoundherselfpossessedofit.
Always,whensheshuthereyes,shecouldseeitplainly,withitsturretsandbannersonthepine-clad
montagne
mountainheight,wrappedinitsfaint,blueloveliness,againstthesunsetskiesofafairandunknownland.
Everythingwonderfulandbeautifulwasinthat
château
castle.
Jewelsthatqueensmighthaveworn;
robesofmoonlightandfire;
couchesofrosesandgold;
longflightsofshallowmarblesteps,withgreat,whiteurns,andwithslender,mist-cladmaidensgoingupanddownthem;
courts,marble-pillared,whereshimmeringfountainsfellandnightingalessang
parmi
amongthemyrtles;
hallsofmirrorsthatreflectedonlyhandsomeknightsandlovelywomen—herselftheloveliestofall,forwhoseglancemendied.
Allthatsupportedherthroughtheboredomofherdayswasthehopeofgoingonadreamspreeatnight.
Most,ifnotall,oftheStirlingswouldhavediedofhorroriftheyhadknownhalfthethingsValancydidinherBlue
Château
Castle.
Foronethingshehadquiteafewloversinit.
Oh,onlyoneatatime.
Onewhowooedherwithallthe
romantique
romanticardouroftheageofchivalryandwonherafterlongdevotionandmanydeedsofderring-do,andwasweddedtoherwithpompandcircumstanceinthegreat,banner-hungchapeloftheBlue
Château
Castle.
Attwelve,thisloverwasafairladwithgoldencurlsandheavenlyblueeyes.
Atfifteen,hewas
grand
tallanddarkandpale,butstillnecessarily
beau
handsome.
Attwenty,hewasascetic,dreamy,spiritual.
Attwenty-five,hehadaclean-cutjaw,slightlygrim,andafacestrongandruggedratherthan
beau
handsome.
Valancynevergrewolderthantwenty-fiveinherBlue
Château
Castle,butrecently—veryrecently—herherohadhadreddish,tawnyhair,atwistedsmileandamysteriouspast.
Idon’tsayValancydeliberatelymurderedtheseloversassheoutgrewthem.
Onesimplyfadedawayasanothercame.
ThingsareveryconvenientinthisrespectinBlueCastles.
But,onthismorningofherdayoffate,ValancycouldnotfindthekeyofherBlue
Château
Castle.
Realitypressedonhertoohardly,barkingatherheelslikeamaddeninglittledog.
Shewastwenty-nine,lonely,undesired,ill-favoured—theonlyhomelygirlina
beau
handsomeclan,withnopastandnofuture.
Asfarasshecouldlookback,lifewasdrabandcolourless,withnotonesinglecrimsonorpurplespotanywhere.
Asfarasshecouldlookforwarditseemedcertaintobejustthesameuntilshewasnothingbutasolitary,littlewitheredleafclingingtoawintrybough.
Themomentwhenawomanrealisesthatshehasnothingtolivefor—neitherlove,duty,
but
purposenorhope—holdsforherthebitternessofdeath.
“AndIjusthavetogoonlivingbecauseIcan’tstop.
Imayhavetoliveeightyyears,”thoughtValancy,inakindof
panique
panic.
“We’reallhorriblylong-lived.
Itsickensmetothinkofit.”
Shewasgladitwasraining—orrather,shewasdrearilysatisfiedthatitwasraining.
Therewouldbenopicnicthatday.
Thisannualpicnic,wherebyAuntandUncleWellington—onealwaysthoughtoftheminthatsuccession—inevitably
célébraient
celebratedtheirengagementatapicnicthirtyyearsbefore,hadbeen,oflateyears,averitable
cauchemar
nightmaretoValancy.
Byanimpishcoincidenceitwasthesamedayasherbirthdayand,aftershehadpassedtwenty-five,nobodyletherforgetit.
Muchasshehatedgoingtothepicnic,itwouldneverhaveoccurredtohertorebelagainstit.
Thereseemedtobenothingoftherevolutionaryinhernature.
Andsheknewexactlywhateveryonewouldsaytoheratthepicnic.
UncleWellington,whomshedislikedanddespisedeventhoughhehadfulfilledthehighestStirlingaspiration,“marryingmoney,”wouldsaytoherinapig’swhisper,“Notthinkingofgettingmarriedyet,mydear?”
andthengooffintothebellowof
rire
laughterwithwhichheinvariablyconcludedhisdullremarks.
AuntWellington,ofwhomValancystoodinabjectawe,wouldtellheraboutOlive’snewchiffondressandCecil’slastdevotedletter.
ValancywouldhavetolookaspleasedandinterestedasifthedressandletterhadbeenhersorelseAuntWellingtonwouldbeoffended.
AndValancyhadlongagodecidedthatshewouldratheroffendGodthanAuntWellington,becauseGodmightforgiveherbutAuntWellingtonneverwould.
AuntAlberta,enormouslyfat,withanamiablehabitofalwaysreferringtoherhusbandas“he,”asifheweretheonlymale
créature
creatureintheworld,whocouldneverforgetthatshehadbeenagreatbeautyinher
jeunesse
youth,wouldcondolewithValancyonhersallowskin—.
“Idon’tknowwhyallthegirlsoftodayaresosunburned.
WhenIwasagirlmyskinwasrosesand
crème
cream.
IwascountedtheprettiestgirlinCanada,mydear.”
PerhapsUncleHerbertwouldn’tsayanything—orperhapshewouldremarkjocularly,“Howfatyou’regetting,Doss!”
Andtheneverybodywouldlaughovertheexcessivelyhumorousideaofpoor,scrawnylittleDossgettingfat.
Beau
Handsome,solemnUncleJames,whomValancydislikedbutrespectedbecausehewasreputedtobevery
intelligent
cleverandwasthereforetheclanoracle—brainsbeingnonetooplentifulintheStirlingconnection—wouldprobablyremarkwiththeowl-likesarcasmthathadwonhimhis
réputation
reputation,“Isupposeyou’rebusywithyourhope-chestthesedays?”
AndUncleBenjaminwouldasksomeofhisabominableconundrums,betweenwheezychuckles,andanswerthemhimself.
“WhatisthedifferencebetweenDossanda
souris
mouse?
“Themousewishesto
mal
harmthecheeseandDosswishestocharmthehe’s.”
Valancyhadheardhimaskthatriddlefiftytimesandeverytimeshewantedtothrowsomethingathim.
Butsheneverdid.
Inthefirstplace,theStirlingssimplydidnotthrowthings;
inthesecondplace,UncleBenjaminwasawealthyandchildlessoldwidowerandValancyhadbeenbroughtupinthefearandadmonitionofhismoney.
Ifsheoffendedhimhewouldcutheroutofhiswill—supposingshewereinit.
ValancydidnotwanttobecutoutofUncleBenjamin’swill.
Shehadbeenpoorallherlifeandknewthegallingbitternessofit.
Sosheenduredhisriddlesandevensmiled
torturé
torturedlittlesmilesoverthem.
AuntIsabel,downrightanddisagreeableasaneastwind,wouldcriticiseherinsomeway—Valancycouldnotpredictjusthow,forAuntIsabelnever
répétait
repeatedacriticism—shefoundsomethingnewwithwhichtojabyoueverytime.
AuntIsabelpridedherselfonsayingwhatshethought,butdidn’tlikeitsowellwhenotherpeoplesaidwhattheythoughttoher.
Valancyneversaidwhatshethought.
CousinGeorgiana—namedafterhergreat-great-grand-mother,whohadbeennamedafterGeorgetheFourth—wouldrecountdolorouslythenamesofallrelativesandfriendswhohaddiedsincethelastpicnicandwonder“whichofuswillbethefirsttogonext.”
Oppressivelycompetent,AuntMildredwouldtalkendlesslyofherhusbandandherodiousprodigiesofbabiestoValancy,becauseValancywouldbetheonlyoneshecouldfindtoputupwithit.
Forthesamereason,CousinGladys—reallyFirstCousinGladysonceremoved,accordingtothestrictwayinwhichtheStirlingstabulatedrelationship—atall,
mince
thinladywhoadmittedshehada
sensible
sensitivedisposition,woulddescribeminutelythetorturesofherneuritis.
AndOlive,thewondergirlofthewholeStirlingclan,whohadeverythingValancyhadnot—beauty,popularity,love,—wouldshowoffherbeautyandpresumeonherpopularityandflaunther
diamant
diamondinsigniaofloveinValancy’sdazzled,enviouseyes.
Therewouldbenoneofallthistoday.
Andtherewouldbenopackingupofteaspoons.
ThepackingupwasalwaysleftforValancyandCousinStickles.
Andonce,sixyearsago,asilverteaspoonfromAuntWellington’sweddingsethadbeenlost.
Valancyneverheardthelastofthatsilverteaspoon.
Itsghost
apparaissait
appearedBanquo-likeateverysubsequentfamilyfeast.
Oh,yes,Valancyknewexactlywhatthepicnicwouldbelikeandshe
béni
blessedtherainthathadsavedherfromit.
Therewouldbenopicnicthisyear.
IfAuntWellingtoncouldnot
célébrer
celebrateonthesacreddayitselfshewouldhavenocelebrationatall.
Thankwhatevergodstherewereforthat.
Sincetherewouldbenopicnic,Valancymadeuphermindthat,iftherainheldupintheafternoon,shewouldgouptothe
bibliothèque
libraryandgetanotherofJohnFoster’sbooks.
Valancywasneverallowedtoreadnovels,butJohnFoster’sbookswerenotnovels.
Theywere“naturebooks”—sothelibrariantoldMrs.FrederickStirling—“allaboutthewoodsandbirdsandbugsandthingslikethat,youknow.”
SoValancywasallowedtoreadthem—underprotest,foritwasonlytooevidentthatsheenjoyedthemtoomuch.
Itwaspermissible,evenlaudable,toreadtoimproveyourmindandyour
religion
religion,butabookthatwasenjoyablewasdangerous.
Valancydidnotknowwhetherhermindwasbeingimprovedornot;
butshefeltvaguelythatifshehadcomeacrossJohnFoster’sbooksyearsagolifemighthavebeenadifferentthingforher.
Theyseemedtohertoyieldglimpsesofaworldintowhichshemightoncehave
entrer
entered,thoughthedoorwasforeverbarredtohernow.
ItwasonlywithinthelastyearthatJohnFoster’sbookshadbeenintheDeerwood
bibliothèque
library,thoughthelibrariantoldValancythathehadbeenawell-known
écrivain
writerforseveralyears.
“Wheredoeshelive?”
Valancyhadasked.
“Nobodyknows.
FromhisbookshemustbeaCanadian,butnomoreinformationcanbehad.
Hispublisherswon’tsayaword.
Quite
probable
likelyJohnFosterisanomdeplume.
Hisbooksaresopopularwecan’tkeeptheminatall,thoughIreallycan’tseewhatpeoplefindinthemtoraveover.”
“Ithinkthey’rewonderful,”saidValancy,timidly.
“Oh—well—”
MissClarksonsmiledinapatronisingfashionthatrelegatedValancy’sopinionstolimbo,“Ican’tsayIcaremuchforbugsmyself.
ButcertainlyFosterseemstoknowallthereistoknowaboutthem.”
Valancydidn’tknowwhethershecaredmuchforbugseither.
ItwasnotJohnFoster’suncanny
connaissance
knowledgeofwildcreaturesandinsectlifethatenthralledher.
Shecould
à peine
hardlysaywhatitwas—sometantalisinglureofa
mystère
mysteryneverrevealed—somehintofagreatsecretjustalittlefurtheron—somefaint,elusiveechooflovely,forgottenthings—JohnFoster’smagicwasindefinable.
Yes,shewouldgetanewFosterbook.
ItwasamonthsinceshehadThistleHarvest,so
sûrement
surelyMothercouldnotobject.
Valancyhadreaditfourtimes—sheknewwholepassagesoffbyheart.
And—shealmostthoughtshewouldgoandseeDr.Trentaboutthatqueerpainaroundtheheart.
Ithadcomeratheroften
dernièrement
lately,andthepalpitationswerebecomingannoying,nottospeakofanoccasionaldizzymomentandaqueershortnessofbreath.
Butcouldshegotoseehimwithouttellinganyone?
Itwasamostdaringthought.
NoneoftheStirlingseverconsultedadoctorwithoutholdingafamily
conseil
councilandgettingUncleJames’approval.
Then,theywenttoDr.AmbroseMarshofPortLawrence,whohadmarriedSecondCousinAdelaideStirling.
ButValancydislikedDr.AmbroseMarsh.
And,besides,shecouldnotgettoPortLawrence,fifteenmilesaway,withoutbeingtakenthere.
Shedidnotwantanyonetoknowaboutherheart.
Therewouldbesuchafussmadeandeverymemberofthefamilywouldcomedownandtalkitoverandadviseherandcautionherand
prévenaient
warnherandtellherhorribletalesofgreat-auntsandcousinsfortytimesremovedwhohadbeen“justlikethat”and“droppeddeadwithoutamoment’swarning,mydear.”
AuntIsabelwouldrememberthatshehadalwayssaidDosslookedlikeagirlwhowouldhavehearttrouble—“sopinchedandpeakedalways”;
andUncleWellingtonwouldtakeitasapersonalinsult,when“noStirlingeverhadheart
maladie
diseasebefore”;
andGeorgianawouldforebodein
parfaitement
perfectlyaudibleasidesthat“poor,dearlittleDossisn’tlongforthisworld,I’mafraid”;
andCousinGladyswouldsay,“Why,myhearthasbeenlikethatforyears,”ina
ton
tonethatimpliednooneelsehadanybusinesseventohaveaheart;
andOlive—Olivewouldmerelylookbeautifulandsuperioranddisgustinglyhealthy,asiftosay,“WhyallthisfussoverafadedsuperfluitylikeDosswhenyouhaveme?”
Valancyfeltthatshecouldn’ttellanybodyunlessshehadto.
Shefeltquitesuretherewasnothingatallseriouslywrongwithherheartandnoneedofallthepotherthatwouldensueifshementionedit.
Shewouldjustslipup
tranquillement
quietlyandseeDr.Trentthatveryday.
Asforhisbill,shehadthetwohundreddollarsthatherfatherhadputinthebankforherthedayshewasborn.
Shewasneverallowedtouseeventheinterestofthis,butshewouldsecretlytakeoutenoughtopayDr.Trent.
Dr.
Trentwasagruff,outspoken,absent-mindedoldfellow,buthewasarecognised
autorité
authorityonheartdisease,evenifhewereonlyageneralpractitionerinout-of-the-worldDeerwood.
Dr.Trentwasoverseventyandtherehadbeenrumoursthathemeanttoretiresoon.
NoneoftheStirlingclanhadevergonetohimsincehehadtoldCousinGladys,tenyearsbefore,thatherneuritiswasallimaginaryandthatsheenjoyedit.
Youcouldn’tpatroniseadoctorwhoinsultedyourfirst-cousin-once-removedlikethat—nottomentionthathewasaPresbyterianwhenalltheStirlingswenttotheAnglicanchurch.
CHAPTERII
WhenCousinSticklesknockedatherdoor,Valancyknewitwashalf-pastsevenandshemustgetup.
Aslongasshecouldremember,CousinStickleshadknockedatherdoorathalf-pastseven.
CousinSticklesandMrs.FrederickStirlinghadbeenupsinceseven,butValancywasallowedtolieabedhalfanhourlongerbecauseofafamilytraditionthatshewasdelicate.
Valancygotup,thoughshehatedgettingupmorethismorningthanevershehadbefore.