In the hill country

I arrived on a hill covered with meadows to the top; it was surrounded by trees and one could see nearby other hills.

I found at the hotel my father, who told me:

“I made you come here to get you married!”

“But I don’t have my black suit!”

“That doesn’t matter; you’re getting married, that’s the main thing!”

I walked to the church and saw they had destined for me a pale young lady. In the afternoon, I was struck by the charm of the feast: the meadow was surrounded by benches; couples arrived, the nobility, some scholars, high school friends, in the folds of the ground, under trees. A longing to draw seized me.

But my wife? AH! that was only a joke, wasn’t it?

One doesn’t marry people without a black suit, in the English style. The mayor was a principal at the local school. He made a speech before the meadow, said that they had done without me to get me married, because they knew how fortunes stood. So, I stifled sobs of humiliation and wrote this page, but with a good deal more of ridiculous literature.

Max Jacob