some reminiscences-第8章

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know　why　I　should　have　been　so　frightfully　impressed。　　Of　course



I　know　what　our　village　dogs　look　likebut　still。　。　。No！　　At



this　very　day；　recalling　the　horror　and　compassion　of　my



childhood；　I　ask　myself　whether　I　am　right　in　disclosing　to　a



cold　and　fastidious　world　that　awful　episode　in　the　family



history。　　I　ask　myselfis　it　right？especially　as　the　B。　family



had　always　been　honourably　known　in　a　wide　country…side　for　the



delicacy　of　their　tastes　in　the　matter　of　eating　and　drinking。



But　upon　the　whole；　and　considering　that　this　gastronomical



degradation　overtaking　a　gallant　young　officer　lies　really　at　the



door　of　the　Great　Napoleon；　I　think　that　to　cover　it　up　by



silence　would　be　an　exaggeration　of　literary　restraint。　　Let　the



truth　stand　here。　　The　responsibility　rests　with　the　Man　of　St。



Helena　in　view　of　his　deplorable　levity　in　the　conduct　of　the



Russian　campaign。　　It　was　during　the　memorable　retreat　from



Moscow　that　Mr。　Nicholas　B。；　in　company　of　two　brother　officers



as　to　whose　morality　and　natural　refinement　I　know　nothing



bagged　a　dog　on　the　outskirts　of　a　village　and　subsequently



devoured　him。　　As　far　as　I　can　remember　the　weapon　used　was　a



cavalry　sabre；　and　the　issue　of　the　sporting　episode　was　rather



more　of　a　matter　of　life　and　death　than　if　it　had　been　an



encounter　with　a　tiger。　　A　picket　of　Cossacks　was　sleeping　in



that　village　lost　in　the　depths　of　the　great　Lithuanian　forest。



The　three　sportsmen　had　observed　them　from　a　hiding…place　making



themselves　very　much　at　home　amongst　the　huts　just　before　the



early　winter　darkness　set　in　at　four　o'clock。　　They　had　observed



them　with　disgust　and　perhaps　with　despair。　　Late　in　the　night



the　rash　counsels　of　hunger　overcame　the　dictates　of　prudence。



Crawling　through　the　snow　they　crept　up　to　the　fence　of　dry



branches　which　generally　encloses　a　village　in　that　part　of



Lithuania。　　What　they　expected　to　get　and　in　what　manner；　and



whether　this　expectation　was　worth　the　risk；　goodness　only　knows。



However；　these　Cossack　parties；　in　most　cases　wandering　without



an　officer；　were　known　to　guard　themselves　badly　and　often　not　at



all。　　In　addition；　the　village　lying　at　a　great　distance　from　the



line　of　French　retreat；　they　could　not　suspect　the　presence　of



stragglers　from　the　Grand　Army。　　The　three　officers　had　strayed



away　in　a　blizzard　from　the　main　column　and　had　been　lost　for



days　in　the　woods；　which　explains　sufficiently　the　terrible



straits　to　which　they　were　reduced。　　Their　plan　was　to　try　and



attract　the　attention　of　the　peasants　in　that　one　of　the　huts



which　was　nearest　to　the　enclosure；　but　as　they　were　preparing　to



venture　into　the　very　jaws　of　the　lion；　so　to　speak；　a　dog　（it　is



mighty　strange　that　there　was　but　one）；　a　creature　quite　as



formidable　under　the　circumstances　as　a　lion；　began　to　bark　on



the　other　side　of　the　fence。　。　。







At　this　stage　of　the　narrative；　which　I　heard　many　times　（by



request）　from　the　lips　of　Captain　Nicholas　B。's　sister…in…law；　my



grandmother；　I　used　to　tremble　with　excitement。







The　dog　barked。　　And　if　he　had　done　no　more　than　bark　three



officers　of　the　Great　Napoleon's　army　would　have　perished



honourably　on　the　points　of　Cossack's　lances；　or　perchance



escaping　the　chase　would　have　died　decently　of　starvation。　　But



before　they　had　time　to　think　of　running　away；　that　fatal　and



revolting　dog；　being　carried　away　by　the　excess　of　his　zeal；



dashed　out　through　a　gap　in　the　fence。　　He　dashed　out　and　died。



His　head；　I　understand；　was　severed　at　one　blow　from　his　body。　　I



understand　also　that　later　on；　within　the　gloomy　solitudes　of　the



snow…laden　woods；　when；　in　a　sheltering　hollow；　a　fire　had　been



lit　by　the　party；　the　condition　of　the　quarry　was　discovered　to



be　distinctly　unsatisfactory。　　It　was　not　thinon　the　contrary；



it　seemed　unhealthily　obese；　its　skin　showed　bare　patches　of　an



unpleasant　character。　　However；　they　had　not　killed　that　dog　for



the　sake　of　the　pelt。　　He　was　large。　。　。He　was　eaten。　。　。The　rest



is　silence。　。　。







A　silence　in　which　a　small　boy　shudders　and　says　firmly：







〃I　could　not　have　eaten　that　dog。〃







And　his　grandmother　remarks　with　a　smile：







〃Perhaps　you　don't　know　what　it　is　to　be　hungry。〃







I　have　learned　something　of　it　since。　　Not　that　I　have　been



reduced　to　eat　dog。　　I　have　fed　on　the　emblematical　animal；



which；　in　the　language　of　the　volatile　Gauls；　is　called　la　vache



enragee；　I　have　lived　on　ancient　salt　junk；　I　know　the　taste　of



shark；　of　trepang；　of　snake；　of　nondescript　dishes　containing



things　without　a　namebut　of　the　Lithuanian　village　dognever！



I　wish　it　to　be　distinctly　understood　that　it　is　not　I　but　my



grand…uncle　Nicholas；　of　the　Polish　landed　gentry；　Chevalier　de



la　Legion　d'Honneur；　&c。　&c。；　who；　in　his　young　days；　had　eaten



the　Lithuanian　dog。







I　wish　he　had　not。　　The　childish　horror　of　the　deed　clings



absurdly　to　the　grizzled　man。　　I　am　perfectly　helpless　against



it。　　Still　if　he　really　had　to；　let　us　charitably　remember　that



he　had　eaten　him　on　active　service；　while　bearing　up　bravely



against　the　greatest　military　disaster　of　modern　history；　and；　in



a　manner；　for　the　sake　of　his　country。　　He　had　eaten　him　to



appease　his　hunger　no　doubt；　but　also　for　the　sake　of　an



unappeasable　and　patriotic　desire；　in　the　glow　of　a　great　faith



that　lives　still；　and　in　the　pursuit　of　a　great　illusion　kindled



like　a　false　beacon　by　a　great　man　to　lead　astray　the　effort　of　a



brave　nation。







Pro　patria！







Looked　at　in　that　light　it　appears　a　sweet　and　decorous　meal。







And　looked　at　in　the　same　light　my　own　diet　of　la　vache　enragee



appears　a　fatuous　and　extravagant　form　of　self…indulgence；　for



why　should　I；　the　son　of　a　land　which　such　men　as　these　have



turned　up　with　their　ploughshares　and　bedewed　with　their　blood；



undertake　the　pursuit　of　fantastic　meals　of　salt　junk　and　hard



tack　upon　the　wide　seas？　　On　the　kindest　view　it　seems　an



unanswerable　question。　　Alas！　I　have　the　conviction　that　there



are　men　of　unstained　rectitude　who　are　ready　to　murmur　scornfully



the　word　desertion。　　Thus　the　taste　of　innocent　adventure　may　be



made　bitter　to　the　palate。　　The　part　of　the　inexplicable　should



be　allowed　for　in　appraising　the　conduct　of　men　in　a　world　where



no　explanation　is　final。　　No　charge　of　faithlessness　ought　to　be



lightly　uttered。　　The　appearances　of　this　perishable　life　are



deceptive　like　everything　that　falls　under　the　judgment　of　our



imperfect　senses。　　The　inner　voice　may　remain　true　enough　in　its



secret　counsel。　　The　fidelity　to　a　special　tradition　may　last



through　the　events　of　an　unrelated　existence；　following



faithfully　too　the　traced　way　of　an　inexplicable　impulse。







It　would　take　too　long　to　explain　the　intimate　alliance　of



contradictions　in　human　nature　which　makes　love　itself　wear　at



times　the　desperate　shape　of　betrayal。　　And　perhaps　there　is　no



possible　explanation。　　Indulgenceas　somebody　saidis　the　most



intelligent　of　all　the　virtues。　　I　venture　to　think　that　it　is



one　of　the　least　common；　if　not　the　most　uncommon　of　all。　　I



would　not　imply　by　this　that　men　are　foolishor　even　most　men。



Far　from　it。　　The　barber　and　the　priest；　backed　by　the　whole



opinion　of　the　village；　condemned　justly　the　conduct　of　the



ingenious　hidalgo　who；　sallying　forth　from　his　native　place；



broke　the　head　of　the　muleteer；　put　to　death　a　flock　of



inoffensive　sheep；　and　went　through　very　doleful　experiences　in　a



certain　stable。　　God　forbid　that　an　unworthy　churl　should　escape



merited　censure　by　hanging　on　to　the　stirrup…leather　of　the



sublime　caballero。　　His　was　a　very　noble；　a　very　unselfish



fantasy；　fit　for　nothing　except　to　raise　the　envy　of　baser



mortals。　　But　there　is　more　than　one　aspect　to　the　charm　of　that



exalted　and　dangerous　figure。　　He；　too；　had　his　frailties。　　After



reading　so　many　romances　he　desired　naively　to　escape　with　his



very　body　from　the　intolerable　reality　of　things。　　He　wished　to



meet　eye　to　eye　the　valorous　giant　Brandabarbaran；　Lord　of



Arabia；　whose　armour　is　made　of　the　skin　of　a　dragon；　and　whose



shield；　strapped　to　his　arm；　is　the　gate　of　a　fortified　city。　　O



amiable　and　natural　weakness！　　O　blessed　simplicity　of　a　gentle



heart　without　guile！　　Who　would　not　succumb　to　such　a　consoling



temptation？　　Nevertheless　it　was　a　form　of　self…indulgence；　and



the　ingenious　hidalgo　of　La　Mancha　was　not　a　good　citizen。　　The



priest　and　the　barber　were　not　unreasonable　in　their　strictures。



Without　going　so　far　as　the　old　King　Louis…Philippe；　who　used　to



say　in　his　exile；　〃The　people　are　never　in　fault〃one　may　admit



that　there　must　be　some　righteousness　in　the　assent　of　a　whole



village。　　Mad！　　Mad！　　He　who　kept　in　pious　meditation　the　ritual



vigil…of…arms　by　the　well　of　an　inn　and　knelt　reverently　to　be



knighted　at　daybreak　by　the　fat；　sly　rogue　of　a　landlord；　has



come　very　near　perfection。　　He　rides　forth；　his　head　encircled　by



a　halothe　patron　saint　of　all　lives　spoiled　or　saved　by　the



irresistible　grace　of　imagination。　　But　he　was　not　a　good



citizen。







Perhaps　that　and　nothing　else　was　meant　by　the　well…remembered



exclamation　of　my　tutor。







It　was　in　the　jolly　year　1873；　the　very　last　year　in　which　I　have



had　a　jolly　holiday。　　There　have　been　idle　years　afterwards；



jolly　enough　in　a　way　and　not　altogether　without　their　lesson；



but　this　year　of　which　I　speak　was　the　year　of　my　last　schoolboy



holiday。　　There　are　other　reasons　why　I　should　remember　that



year；　but　they　are　too　long　to　state　formally　in　this　place。



Moreover　they　have　nothing　to　do　with　that　holiday。　　What　has　to



do　with　the　holiday　is　that　before　the　day　on　which　the　remark



was　made　we　had　seen　Vienna；　the　Upper　Danube；　Munich；　the　Falls



of　the　Rhine；　the　Lake　of　Constancein　fact　it　was　a　memorable



holiday　of　travel。　　Of　late　we　had　been　tramping　slowly　up　the



Valley　of　the　Reuss。　　It　was　a　delightful　time。　　It　was　much　more



like　a　stroll　than　a　tramp。　　Landing　from　a　Lake　of　Lucerne



steamer　in　Fluellen；　we　found　ourselves　at　the　end　of　the　second



day；　with　the　dusk　overtaking　our　leisurely　footsteps；　a　little



way　beyond　Hospenthal。　　This　is　not　the　day　on　which　the　remark



was　made：　　in　the　shadows　of　the　deep　valley　and　with　the



habitati