Chapter 9
At the climax of the Nekalto atindimas, while the choir sings and the organ resounds, Vasaris glances toward the pilory (altar rail) and spots a lone, young woman dressed in a white silk veil, her dark hair knotted, eyes distant and sorrowful. The sight strikes him like a vision; his heart swells, his breathing quickens, and a warm wave of longing spreads through his chest. He interprets the figure as a manifestation of his long‑standing yearning for an idealized feminine presence, contrasting with his fading recollection of Liucė.
After the mass, Vasaris returns to his seat, feeling a renewed vitality. Fellow seminarians notice his bright demeanor. One remarks, “Look how Vasaris has revived today! Where did that come from?” Others tease, “What tricks does Vasaris know now?” He smiles, shyly accepting the attention. The choir’s rehearsals continue, and Vasaris sings the Magnificat with greater fullness, hearing new harmonies that lift his spirits further.
That evening, the seminary holds a dinner in the refectory. The usual solemnity is replaced by noisy chatter and laughter. Vasaris sits among his peers, sharing jokes about his newfound cheerfulness. The conversation drifts to the upcoming indulgence celebrations, and a few jokingly speculate about his “new friends” in the choir. The meal is lively; glasses clink, and a few students stumble over spilled wine, but no serious conflict arises.
Later, while the night is still young, Petryla approaches Vasaris in the garden. He whispers that he has received a letter from a cleric indicating that Liucė – the coffee‑serving girl from the earlier banquet, now a relative of a priest – will soon visit the seminary. Petryla describes Liucė’s appearance and hints that she may want to see Vasaris. This revelation reignites Vasaris’s unresolved feelings for Liucė, now tangled with his reverie of the unknown woman at the altar.
Vasaris’s thoughts oscillate between the two women: the enigmatic figure clothed in white, who seemed to embody an unattainable ideal, and Liucė, whose familiarity and past teasing still haunt him. He feels a mixture of anticipation, anxiety, and a strange peace, as if both presences promise a different kind of fulfillment.
The chapter ends with Vasaris deciding that on the following day’s service he will position himself in the front row again, directly opposite the altar rail, hoping to catch another glimpse of the mysterious woman and perhaps resolve the emotional turmoil stirred by Liucė’s impending arrival.