stories by english authors in france(旅法英国作家的故事)-第6章
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father and his neighbours talk in low； awe…stricken tones one bitter wintry
night of how a king had been slain to save the people； and she
remembered likewiseremembered it well； because it had been her
betrothal night and the sixteenth birthday of her lifehow a horseman had
flashed through the startled street like a comet； and had called aloud； in a
voice of fire； 〃/Gloire！ gloire！ gloire！/Marengo！ Marengo！ Marengo！〃
and how the village had dimly understood that something marvellous for
France had happened afar off； and how her brothers and her cousins and
her betrothed； and she with them； had all gone up to the high slope over
the river； and had piled up a great pyramid of pine wood and straw and
dried mosses； and had set flame to it； till it had glowed in its scarlet
triumph all through that wondrous night of the sultry summer of victory。
These and the like memories she would sometimes relate to the
children at evening when they gathered round her begging for a story。
Otherwise； no memories of the Revolution or the Empire disturbed the
tranquility of the Berceau； and even she； after she had told them； would
add； 〃I am not sure now what Marengo was。 A battle； no doubt； but I am
not sure where nor why。 But we heard later that little Claudis； my aunt's
youngest…born； a volunteer not nineteen； died at it。 If we had known； we
should not have gone up and lit the bonfire。〃
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This woman； who had been born in that time of famine and flame； was
the happiest creature in the whole hamlet of the Berceau。 〃I am old； yes； I
am very old；〃 she would say； looking up from her spinning…wheel in her
house…door； and shading her eyes from the sun； 〃very oldninety…two last
summer。 But when one has a roof over one's head； and a pot of soup
always； and a grandson like mine； and when one has lived all one's life in
the Berceau de Dieu； then it is well to be so old。 Ah； yes； my little ones；
yes； though you doubt it； you little birds that have just tried your wings；it
is well to be so old。 One has time to think； and thank the good God； which
one never seemed to have a minute to do in that work； work； work when
one was young。〃
Reine Allix was a tall and strong woman； very withered and very bent
and very brown； yet with sweet； dark； flashing eyes that had still light in
them； and a face that was still noble； though nearly a century had bronzed
it with its harvest suns and blown on it with its winter winds。 She wore
always the same garb of homely dark…blue serge； always the same tall
white head…gear； always the same pure silver ear…rings that had been at
once an heirloom and a nuptial gift。 She was always shod in her wooden
sabots； and she always walked abroad with a staff of ash。 She had been
born in the Berceau de Dieu； had lived there and wedded there； had toiled
there all her life； and never left it for a greater distance than a league； or
for a longer time than a day。 She loved it with an intense love。 The world
beyond it was nothing to her； she scarcely believed in it as existing。 She
could neither read nor write。 She told the truth； reared her offspring in
honesty； and praised God alwayshad praised Him when starving in a
bitter winter after her husband's death； when there had been no field work；
and she had had five children to feed and clothe； and praised Him now that
her sons were all dead before her； and all she had living of her blood was
her grandson Bernadou。
Her life had been a hard one。 Her parents had been hideously poor。 Her
marriage had scarcely bettered her condition。 She had laboured in the
fields always； hoeing and weeding and reaping and carrying wood and
driving mules； and continually rising with the first streak of daybreak。 She
had known fever and famine and all manner of earthly ills。 But now in her
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old age she had peace。 Two of her dead sons； who had sought their
fortunes in the other hemisphere； had left her a little money； and she had a
little cottage and a plot of ground； and a pig； and a small orchard。 She was
well…to…do； and could leave it all to Bernadou； and for ten years she had
been happy； perfectly happy； in the coolness and the sweetness and the old
familiar ways and habits of the Berceau。
Bernadou was very good to her。 The lad； as she called him； was five
and twenty years old； tall and straight and clean…limbed； with the blue eyes
of the North； and a gentle； frank face。 He worked early and late in the plot
of ground that gave him his livelihood。 He lived with his grandmother； and
tended her with a gracious courtesy and veneration that never altered。 He
was not very wise； he also could neither read nor write； he believed in his
priest and his homestead； and loved the ground that he had trodden ever
since his first steps from the cradle had been guided by Reine Allix。 He
had never been drawn for the conscription； because he was the only
support of a woman of ninety； he likewise had never been half a dozen
kilometres from his birthplace。 When he was bidden to vote； and he asked
what his vote of assent would pledge him to do； they told him； 〃It will
bind you to honour your grandmother so long as she shall live； and to get
up with the lark； and to go to mass every Sunday； and to be a loyal son to
your country。 Nothing more。〃 And thereat he had smiled and straightened
his stalwart frame； and gone right willingly to the voting…urn。
He was very stupid in these things； and Reine Allix； though clear…
headed and shrewd； was hardly more learned in them than he。
〃Look you；〃 she had said to him oftentimes； 〃in my babyhood there
was the old white flag upon the chateau。 Well； they pulled that down and
put up a red one。 That toppled and fell； and there was one of three colours。
Then somebody with a knot of white lilies in his hand came one day and
set up the old white one afresh； and before the day was done that was
down again and the tricolour again up where it is。 Now； some I know
fretted themselves greatly because of all these changes of the flags； but as
for me； I could not see that any one of them mattered： bread was just as
dear and sleep was just as sweet whichever of the three was uppermost。〃
Bernadou； who had never known but the flag of three colours； believed
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her； as indeed he believed every word that those kindly and resolute old
lips ever uttered to him。
He had never been in a city； and only once； on the day of his first
communion； in the town four leagues away。 He knew nothing more than
this simple； cleanly； honest life that he led。 With what men did outside his
little world of meadow…land and woodland he had no care nor any concern。
Once a man had come through the village of the Berceau； a travelling
hawker of cheap prints；a man with a wild eye and a restless brain；who
told Bernadou that he was a downtrodden slave； a clod； a beast like a mule；
who fetched and carried that the rich might fatten； a dolt； an idiot； who
cared nothing for the rights of man and the wrongs of the poor。 Bernadou
had listened with a perplexed face； then with a smile； that had cleared it
like sunlight； he had answered； in his country dialect； 〃I do not know of
what you speak。 Rights？ Wrongs？ I cannot tell； But I have never owned a
sou； I have never told a lie； I am strong enough to hold my own with any
man that flouts me； and I am content where I am。 That is enough for me。〃
The peddler had called him a poor…spirited beast of burden； but had
said so out of reach of his arm； and by night had slunk away from the
Berceau de Dieu； and had been no more seen there to vex the quiet
contentment of its peaceful and peace…loving ways。
At night； indeed； sometimes； the little wine…shop of the village would
be frequented by some half…dozen of the peasant proprietors of the place；
who talked communism after their manner； not a very clear one； in excited
tones and with the feverish glances of conspirators。 But it meant little； and
came to less。 The weather and the price of wheat were dearer matters to
them； and in the end they usually drank their red wine in amity； and went
up the village street arm in arm； singing patriotic songs until their angry
wives flung open their lattices and thrust their white head…gear out into the
moonlight； and called to them shrewishly to get to bed and not make fools
of themselves in that fashion； which usually silenced and sobered them all
instantly； so that the revolutions of the Berceau de Dieu； if not quenched
in a wine…pot； were always smothered in a nightcap； and never by any
chance disturbed its repose。
But of these noisy patriots Bernadou was never one。 He had the
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instinctive conservatism of the French peasant； which is in such direct and
tough antagonism with the feverish socialism of the French artisan。 His
love was for the soila love deep…rooted as the oaks that grew in it。 Of
Paris he had a dim； vague dread； as of a superb beast continually draining
and devouring。 Of all forms of government he was alike ignorant。 So long
as he tilled his little angle of land in peace； so long as the sun ripened his
fruits and corn； so long as famine was away from his door and his
neighbours dwelt in good…fellowship with him； so long he was happy； and
cared not whether he was thus happy under a monarchy； an empire； or a
republic。 This wisdom； which the peddler called apathy and cursed； the
young man had imbibed from nature and the teachings of Reine Allix。
〃Look at home and mind thy word；〃 she had s
