HOW I MET JEAN DE GUE
I left my car outside the beautiful church in the centre of the city of Le Mans and began to walk.
It was raining. There was always rain on the last few days of my holiday. Driving out of Tours I had
felt not quite satisfied with the notes of the lessons which I had to give in London when I got back
. Even if I held my students' attention for half an hour, nothing that I gave to them was of any
value. I had given them only an unreal picture of the history of France because I had never been
really close to the people of France. All I had done in my life in England and in France was to
watch people, but not to share their happiness or pain.
I was a failure. My life had been a failure.
I had not meant to stay in Le Mans. But I thought, "It's midday. I will stop and have a meal in a
restaurant and perhaps that will make me feel happier."
As I ate I looked at the people around me and listened to them. I speak French perfectly, like a
Frenchman. I understood everything they said. I knew all about their history and their way of life;
but I was not one of them: I was a stranger, a visitor.
My few friends in London and my students knew me as a quiet, dry, dull teacher, aged about thirty-
eight. I had no family, no close friends. But inside this dry outer shell there was a real man who
wanted to be let out. I had kept him locked up inside me. If I had let him out what might he not
have done?--laughed, feasted, fought, murdered, stolen?--or given himself to the service of others,
believed in God, and in Man as God's noblest creation?
I had drawn a circle on my map round the Abbey of la Grande-Trappe. La Grande-Trappe is a house of
men who have given their lives to God: they live in silence, never speaking. I had thought of going
there; I hoped to discover what to do with failure.
What can a man do with failure?
I left my car near the church in the middle of the town, and walked on and on. I lost my way, but at
last I saw the railway station. I thought, "I'll go and have a drink there and decide whether to go
on to la Grande-Trappe."
I crossed the road. A car passed me and the driver put his head out of the window and shouted,
"Hullo, Jean! When did you return?"
My name is John, and I thought that I had perhaps met him somewhere. So I answered , "I'm only
passing through. I go back tonight."
"But what are you doing in Le Mans? You ought to be in Paris--but I suppose your journey there was
a failure. Of course you'll tell them all that it was a success."
Who was this man? He must be a stranger. I said, "I'm sorry: we've both made a mistake."
"All right!" he said. "I'll pretend that I haven't seen you. I'll ask you about it when we meet on
Sunday--at the shooting party."
I went into the station, and got a drink. The place was very crowded. Someone touched arm as I
drank. As I moved to give him more space, he turned and looked at me and I looked at him. I knew
that face. I knew that face only too well!
I was looking at myself!