The Village Rector

Le Curé de Village, which is often translated as the Country Parson or the Village Rector, is a tale of love, longing, crime, guilt, religion and recompense, set in France in the early 19th Century. Within Balzac's Human Comedy it fits within his category of "Scenes from Country Life", as much of the book takes place in a remote rural setting, though a large part of the book also takes part in a town and so could arguably be categorised in the provincial scenes too.
The story covers the whole life of Veronique – born into a wealthy but thrifty bourgeois family in the town of Limoges, and follows her through her dramatic existence to her purposeful mission in the French countryside. Like many of Balzac's works, the themes of love, show more societal differences, and human pyschology are important, but this book is distinguished by its particular focus on religion (Catholicism), and civic improvement. The story varies in pace throughout - in parts bordering on the page-turner, in others more relaxed.
The character of the title plays a major role in bringing about many of the events, while another male character provides plot tension as the reader is left to work out if he did or didn't commit the crime for much of the book. The moral message given here is more evident and deliberate than in several of Balzac's other works, which are usually subtler and more ambiguous. This is a good story though, and despite being a little prolonged toward the end, has a satisfying and emotional conclusion. show less

Die ersten zwei Drittel sind soweit ganz nett. Dann folgen etwa 30 Seiten dröge Gespräche einer Tischgesellschaft über Staatsfinanzen - da wäre ich fast steckengeblieben. Was aber danach kommt, ist so gut, dass der Roman mit Posaunen und Engelschören in die Kollektion der absoluten Lieblingsbücher einzieht. "Le curé de village" ist exakt 5,41 mal so herzzerreißend wie La Traviata, und die ist ja schon ziemlich ergreifend...

Dans le Bas-Limoges, au coin de la rue de la Vieille-Poste et de la rue de la Cité, se trouvait, il y a trente ans, une de ces boutiques auxquelles il semble que rien n'ait été changé depuis le Moyen Age. De grandes dalles cassées en mille endroits, posées sur le sol qui se montrait humide par places, auraient fait tomber quiconque n'eût pas observé les creux et les élévations de ce singulier carrelage. Les murs poudreux laissaient voir une bizarre mosaïque de bois et de briques, de pierres et de fer tassés avec une solidité due au temps, peutêtre au hasard. Depuis plus de cent ans le plancher, composé de poutres colossales, pliait sans rompre sous le poids des étages supérieurs…