Chapter 39

Chapter 392,726 wordsCompleted

Vasaris, still haunted by the baroness’s earlier “Preliudijų” books, returns to the manor to return them. He finds the baroness strolling in the park, no longer in her penitent habit but in simple everyday clothing. She invites him to walk together; Vasaris, though hesitant, follows. Their conversation begins with light teasing about his recent visits, then shifts to a deeper exchange: the baroness questions the purpose of people who exist only to “beautify the world” and argues that such individuals are useless beyond providing pleasure. She likens the clergy who merely adorn society to “parazites” and warns Vasaris that his poetic temperament may lead him away from true priestly duties.

During the walk they stop by a flowerbed, and the baroness, smiling, suggests he imagine a future where he could be a poet, a writer, or even a rogue, instead of a constrained priest. She mentions historical priest‑authors—Naruševičius, who wrote panegyrics and sentimental tales, and Krasickis, a cheerful satirist—illustrating that clergy have sometimes produced literature, though often for trivial or self‑serving reasons. Vasaris, intrigued, asks whether there are more notable priest writers; the baroness admits she cannot recall any beyond those two, underscoring the scarcity of serious literary clergy.

The dialogue becomes increasingly personal: the baroness teases Vasaris about his “tamsta” (you) identity, calls him talented, and hints that his inner turmoil over love, especially his lingering obsession with Liucė, may be a sign that his vocation is misguided. She playfully accuses him of being a “pralotas” (wild) or a “kanauninkas” (rogue) and warns him not to let the seductive allure of poetry and sensuality corrupt his priestly path.

After the walk, Vasaris returns to the manor’s library, where the baroness asks him to sort through more books. While he works, he reflects on the baroness’s arguments, rereads the “Preliudijų” passages, and notices how the baroness’s philosophy mirrors his own restless thoughts about art, sin, and the emptiness he feels in the seminary. He also recalls earlier visions of a mysterious woman in white and his unresolved feelings toward Liucė, which now seem intertwined with his desire to write.

The chapter ends with Vasaris sitting alone in the garden, his mind oscillating between the baroness’s seductive, almost libertine counsel and his own conscience as a seminarian. He resolves to continue reading literature, perhaps seeking a balance between his priestly duties and his yearning to become a poet, while the memory of Liucė remains a painful, unresolved thread.