The Death of the Curate

           ItwasonthesixthdayofourimprisonmentthatIpeepedforthelasttime,andpresentlyfoundmyselfalone. Insteadofkeepingclosetomeandtryingtooustmefromtheslit,thecuratehadgonebackintothescullery. Iwasstruckbyasuddenthought. Iwentbackquicklyandquietlyintothescullery. InthedarknessIheardthecuratedrinking. Isnatchedinthedarkness,andmyfingerscaughtabottleofburgundy. 

           Forafewminutestherewasatussle. Thebottlestruckthefloorandbroke,andIdesistedandrose. Westoodpantingandthreateningeachother. IntheendIplantedmyselfbetweenhimandthefood,andtoldhimofmydeterminationtobeginadiscipline. Idividedthefoodinthepantry,intorationstolastustendays. Iwouldnotlethimeatanymorethatday. Intheafternoonhemadeafeebleefforttogetatthefood. Ihadbeendozing,butinaninstantIwasawake. Alldayandallnightwesatfacetoface,Iwearybutresolute,andheweepingandcomplainingofhisimmediatehunger. Itwas,Iknow,anightandaday,buttomeitseemed—itseemsnow—aninter—minablelengthoftime. 

           Andsoourwidenedincompatibilityendedatlastinopenconflict. Fortwovastdayswestruggledinundertonesandwrestlingcontests. ThereweretimeswhenIbeatandkickedhimmadly,timeswhenIcajoledandpersuadedhim,andonceItriedtobribehimwiththelastbottleofburgundy,fortherewasarain-waterpumpfromwhichIcouldgetwater. Butneitherforcenorkindnessavailed;hewasindeedbeyondreason. Hewouldneitherdesistfromhisattacksonthefoodnorfromhisnoisybabblingtohimself. Therudimentaryprecautionstokeepourimprisonmentendurablehewouldnotobserve.