On Sunday morning the bishop was to drive overland to Sainte–Agnes from Hanover, and Emil Bergson had been asked to take the place of one of Amedee’s cousins in the cavalcade5 of forty French boys who were to ride across country to meet the bishop’s carriage. At six o’clock on Sunday morning the boys met at the church. As they stood holding their horses by the bridle6, they talked in low tones of their dead comrade. They kept repeating that Amedee had always been a good boy, glancing toward the red brick church which had played so large a part in Amedee’s life, had been the scene of his most serious moments and of his happiest hours. He had played and wrestled7 and sung and courted under its shadow. Only three weeks ago he had proudly carried his baby there to be christened. They could not doubt that that invisible arm was still about Amedee; that through the church on earth he had passed to the church triumphant9, the goal of the hopes and faith of so many hundred years.
When the word was given to mount, the young men rode at a walk out of the village; but once out among the wheatfields in the morning sun, their horses and their own youth got the better of them. A wave of zeal10 and fiery11 enthusiasm swept over them. They longed for a Jerusalem to deliver. The thud of their galloping12 hoofs13 interrupted many a country breakfast and brought many a woman and child to the door of the farmhouses14 as they passed. Five miles east of Sainte–Agnes they met the bishop in his open carriage, attended by two priests. Like one man the boys swung off their hats in a broad salute15, and bowed their heads as the handsome old man lifted his two fingers in the episcopal blessing16. The horsemen closed about the carriage like a guard, and whenever a restless horse broke from control and shot down the road ahead of the body, the bishop laughed and rubbed his plump hands together. “What fine boys!” he said to his priests. “The Church still has her cavalry17.”
As the troop swept past the graveyard18 half a mile east of the town, — the first frame church of the parish had stood there, — old Pierre Seguin was already out with his pick and spade, digging Amedee’s grave. He knelt and uncovered as the bishop passed. The boys with one accord looked away from old Pierre to the red church on the hill, with the gold cross flaming on its steeple.
Mass was at eleven. While the church was filling, Emil Bergson waited outside, watching the wagons19 and buggies drive up the hill. After the bell began to ring, he saw Frank Shabata ride up on horseback and tie his horse to the hitch-bar. Marie, then, was not coming. Emil turned and went into the church. Amedee’s was the only empty pew, and he sat down in it. Some of Amedee’s cousins were there, dressed in black and weeping. When all the pews were full, the old men and boys packed the open space at the back of the church, kneeling on the floor. There was scarcely a family in town that was not represented in the confirmation class, by a cousin, at least. The new communicants, with their clear, reverent20 faces, were beautiful to look upon as they entered in a body and took the front benches reserved for them. Even before the Mass began, the air was charged with feeling. The choir had never sung so well and Raoul Marcel, in the “Gloria,” drew even the bishop’s eyes to the organ loft21. For the offertory he sang Gounod’s “Ave Maria,” — always spoken of in Sainte–Agnes as “the Ave Maria.”
Emil began to torture himself with questions about Marie. Was she ill? Had she quarreled with her husband? Was she too unhappy to find comfort even here? Had she, perhaps, thought that he would come to her? Was she waiting for him? Overtaxed by excitement and sorrow as he was, the rapture22 of the service took hold upon his body and mind. As he listened to Raoul, he seemed to emerge from the conflicting emotions which had been whirling him about and sucking him under. He felt as if a clear light broke upon his mind, and with it a conviction that good was, after all, stronger than evil, and that good was possible to men. He seemed to discover that there was a kind of rapture in which he could love forever without faltering23 and without sin. He looked across the heads of the people at Frank Shabata with calmness. That rapture was for those who could feel it; for people who could not, it was non-existent. He coveted24 nothing that was Frank Shabata’s. The spirit he had met in music was his own. Frank Shabata had never found it; would never find it if he lived beside it a thousand years; would have destroyed it if he had found it, as Herod slew25 the innocents, as Rome slew the martyrs26.
SAN— CTA MARI-I-I-A,
wailed27 Raoul from the organ loft;
O— RA PRO8 NO-O-BIS!
And it did not occur to Emil that any one had ever reasoned thus before, that music had ever before given a man this equivocal revelation.
The confirmation service followed the Mass. When it was over, the congregation thronged28 about the newly confirmed. The girls, and even the boys, were kissed and embraced and wept over. All the aunts and grandmothers wept with joy. The housewives had much ado to tear themselves away from the general rejoicing and hurry back to their kitchens. The country parishioners were staying in town for dinner, and nearly every house in Sainte–Agnes entertained visitors that day. Father Duchesne, the bishop, and the visiting priests dined with Fabien Sauvage, the banker. Emil and Frank Shabata were both guests of old Moise Marcel. After dinner Frank and old Moise retired29 to the rear room of the saloon to play California Jack30 and drink their cognac, and Emil went over to the banker’s with Raoul, who had been asked to sing for the bishop.
At three o’clock, Emil felt that he could stand it no longer. He slipped out under cover of “The Holy City,” followed by Malvina’s wistful eye, and went to the stable for his mare31. He was at that height of excitement from which everything is foreshortened, from which life seems short and simple, death very near, and the soul seems to soar like an eagle. As he rode past the graveyard he looked at the brown hole in the earth where Amedee was to lie, and felt no horror. That, too, was beautiful, that simple doorway32 into forgetfulness. The heart, when it is too much alive, aches for that brown earth, and ecstasy33 has no fear of death. It is the old and the poor and the maimed who shrink from that brown hole; its wooers are found among the young, the passionate34, the gallant-hearted. It was not until he had passed the graveyard that Emil realized where he was going. It was the hour for saying good-bye. It might be the last time that he would see her alone, and today he could leave her without rancor35, without bitterness.
Everywhere the grain stood ripe and the hot afternoon was full of the smell of the ripe wheat, like the smell of bread baking in an oven. The breath of the wheat and the sweet clover passed him like pleasant things in a dream. He could feel nothing but the sense of diminishing distance. It seemed to him that his mare was flying, or running on wheels, like a railway train. The sunlight, flashing on the window-glass of the big red barns, drove him wild with joy. He was like an arrow shot from the bow. His life poured itself out along the road before him as he rode to the Shabata farm.
When Emil alighted at the Shabatas’ gate, his horse was in a lather36. He tied her in the stable and hurried to the house. It was empty. She might be at Mrs. Hiller’s or with Alexandra. But anything that reminded him of her would be enough, the orchard37, the mulberry tree . . . When he reached the orchard the sun was hanging low over the wheatfield. Long fingers of light reached through the apple branches as through a net; the orchard was riddled38 and shot with gold; light was the reality, the trees were merely interferences that reflected and refracted light. Emil went softly down between the cherry trees toward the wheatfield. When he came to the corner, he stopped short and put his hand over his mouth. Marie was lying on her side under the white mulberry tree, her face half hidden in the grass, her eyes closed, her hands lying limply where they had happened to fall. She had lived a day of her new life of perfect love, and it had left her like this. Her breast rose and fell faintly, as if she were asleep. Emil threw himself down beside her and took her in his arms. The blood came back to her cheeks, her amber39 eyes opened slowly, and in them Emil saw his own face and the orchard and the sun. “I was dreaming this,” she whispered, hiding her face against him, “don’t take my dream away!”
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1
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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cavalcade
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| n.车队等的行列 | |
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bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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7
wrestled
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| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
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pro
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| n.赞成，赞成的意见，赞成者 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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12
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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13
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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14
farmhouses
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| n.农舍，农场的主要住房( farmhouse的名词复数 ) | |
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15
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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loft
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| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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23
faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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24
coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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slew
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| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
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martyrs
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| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
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27
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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30
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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31
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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32
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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33
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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34
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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35
rancor
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| n.深仇，积怨 | |
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36
lather
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| n.(肥皂水的)泡沫，激动 | |
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37
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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38
riddled
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| adj.布满的；充斥的；泛滥的v.解谜，出谜题(riddle的过去分词形式) | |
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amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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