Monsieur Fouchet was tying up his rose-trees; we were watching him from our seat on the green bench. Here in the garden, beneath the blue vault2, the roses were drooping3 from very heaviness of glory; they gave forth4 a scent5 that made the head swim. It was a healthy, virile6 intoxication7, however, the salt in the air steadying one's nerves.
Nature, not being mortal and cursed with a conscience, had risen that morning in a mood for carousal8; at this hour of noon she had reached the point of ecstatic stupor9. No state of trance was ever so exquisite10. The air was swooning, but how delicate its gasps11, as if it fell away into calm! How adorably blue the sky in its debauch12 of sun-lit ether! The sea, too, although it reeled slightly, unsteadily rising only to fall away, what a radiance of color it maintained! Here in the garden the drowsy13 air would lift a flower petal14, as some dreamer sunk in hasheesh slumber15 might touch a loved hand, only to let it slip away in nerveless impotence. Never had the charm of this Normandy sea-coast been as compelling; never had the divine softness of this air, this harmonious16 marriage of earth-scents and sea-smells seemed as perfect; never before had the delicacy17 of the foliage18 and color-gradations of the sky as triumphantly19 proved that nowhere else, save in France, can nature be at once sensuous20 and poetic21.
We looked for something other than pure enjoyment22 from this golden moment; we hoped its beauty would help us to soften23 our landlord. This was the moment we had chosen to excite his sympathies, also to gain counsel from him concerning the tragedy we had witnessed the day before. He listened to our tale with evident interest, but there was a disappointing coolness in his eye. As the narrative25 proceeded, the brutality27 of the situation failed to sting him to even a mild form of indignation. He went on tying his rose-trees, his ardor28 expending29 itself in choice snippings of the stray stalks and rebellious30 tendrils.
"This Guichon," he said, after a brief moment, in the tone that goes with the pursuance of an occupation that has become a passion. "This Guichon—I know him. He is a hard man, but no harder than many others, and he has had his losses, which don't always soften a man. 'Qui terre a guerre a,' Molière says, and Guichon has had many lawsuits31, losing them all. He has been twice married; that was his daughter by his first wife he was touching32 up like that. He married only the other day Madame Tier, a rich woman, a neighbor, their lands join. It was a great match for him, and she, the wife, and his daughter don't hit it off, it appears. There was some talk of a marriage for the girl lately; a good match presented itself, but the girl will have none of it; perhaps that accounts for the beating."
A rose, overblown with its fulness of splendor33, dropped in a shower at
Fouchet's feet just then.
"Tiens, elle est finie, celle-là" he cried, with an accent of regret, and he stooped over the fallen petals34 as if they had been the remains35 of a friend. Then he sighed as he swept the mass into his broad palm.
"Come, let us leave him to the funeral of his roses; he hasn't the sensibilities of an insect;" and Charm grasped my arm to lead me over the turf, across the gravel36 paths, toward the tea-house.
This tottering37 structure had become one of our favorite retreats; in the poetic mise-en-scène of the garden it played the part of Ruin. It was absurdly, ridiculously out of repair; its gaping38 beams and the sunken, dejected floor could only be due to intentional39 neglect. Fouchet evidently had grasped the secrets of the laws of contrast; the deflected40 angle of the tumbling roof made the clean-cut garden beds doubly true. Nature had had compassion41 on the aged24 little building, however; the clustering, fragrant42 vines, in their hatred43 of nudity, had invested the prose of a wreck44 with the poetry of drapery. The tip-tilted settee beneath the odorous roof became, in time, our chosen seat; from that perch45 we could overlook the garden-walls, the beach, the curve of the shore, the grasses and hollyhocks in our neighbor's garden, the latter startlingly distinct against the great arch of the sky.
It was here Renard found us an hour later. To him, likewise, did Charm narrate46 our extraordinary experience of yesterday, with much adjunct of fiery47 comment, embellishment of gesture, and imitative pose.
"Ye gods, what a scene to paint! You were in luck—in luck; why wasn't
I there?" was Renard's tribute to human pity.
"Oh, you are all alike, all—nothing moves you—you haven't common human sympathies—you haven't the rudiments48 of a heart! You are terrible—all of you—terrible!" A moment after she had left us, as if the narrowness of the little house stifled49 her. With long, swinging steps she passed out, to air her indignation, apparently50, beneath the wall of the espaliers.
"Splendid creature, isn't she?" commented Renard, following the long lines of the girl's fluttering muslin gown, as he plucked at his mustache. "She should always wear white and gold—what is that stuff?—and be lit up like that with a kind of goddess-like anger. She is wrong, however," he went on, a moment later; "those of us who live here aren't really barbarians51, only we get used to things. It's the peasants themselves that force us; they wouldn't stand interference. A peasant is a kind of king on his own domain52; he does anything he likes, short of murder, and he doesn't always stop at that."
"But surely the Government—at least their Church, ought to teach them—"
"Oh, their Church! they laugh at their curés—till they come to die. He's a heathen, that's what the French peasant is—there's lots of the middle ages abroad up there in the country. Along here, in the coast villages, the nineteenth century has crept in a bit, humanizing them, but the fonds is always the same; they're by nature avaricious53, sordid54, cruel; they'll do anything for money; there isn't anything sacred for them except their pocket."
A few days later, in our friend the cobbler we found a more sympathetic listener. "Dame1! I also used to beat my wife," he said, contemplatively, as he scratched his herculean head, "but that was when I was a Christian55, when I went to confession56; for the confessional was made for that, c'est pour laver le linge sale des consciences, ?à" (interjecting his epigram). "But now—now that I am a free-thinker, I have ceased all that; I don't beat her," pointing to his old wife, "and neither do I drink or swear."
"It's true, he's good—he is, now," the old wife nodded, with her slit57 of a smile; "but," she added, quickly, as if even in her husband's religious past there had been some days of glory, "he was always just—even then—when he beat me."
"C'est très femme, ?à—hein, mademoiselle?" And the cobbler cocked his head in critical pose, with a philosopher's smile.
The result of the interview, however, although not entirely58 satisfactory, was illuminating59, besides this light which had been thrown on the cobbler's reformation. For the cobbler was a cousin, distant in point of kinship, but still a cousin, of the brutal26 farmer and father. He knew all the points of the situation, the chief of which was, as Fouchet had hinted, that the girl had refused to wed60 the bon parti, who was a connection of the step-mother. As for the step-mother's murderous outcry, "Kill her! kill her!" the cobbler refused to take a dramatic view of this outburst.
"In such moments, you understand, one loses one's head; brutality always intoxicates61; she was a little drunk, you see."
When we proposed our modest little scheme, that of sending for the girl and taking her, for a time at least, into our service, merely as a change of scene, the cobbler had found nothing but admiration62 for the project. "It will be perfect, mesdames. They, the parents, will ask nothing better. To have the girl out at service, away, and yet not disgracing them by taking a place with any other farmer; yes, they will like that, for they are rich, you see, and wealth always respects itself. Ah, yes, it's perfect; I'll arrange all that—all the details."
Two days later the result of the arrangement stood before us. She was standing63 with her arms crossed, her fingers clasping her elbows—with her very best peasant manner. She was neatly64, and, for a peasant, almost fashionably attired65 in her holiday dress—a short, black skirt, white stockings, a flowery kerchief crossed over her broad bosom66, and on her pretty hair a richly tinted67 blue foulard. She was very well dressed for a peasant, and, from the point of view of two travellers, of about as much use as a plough.
"It's a beautiful scheme, and it's as dramatic as the fifth act of a play; but what shall we do with her?"
"Oh." replied Charm, carelessly, "there isn't anything in particular for her to do. I mean to buy her a lot of clothes, like those she has on, and she can walk about in the garden or in the fields."
"Ah, I see; she's to be a kind of a perambulating figure-piece."
"Yes, that's about it. I dare say she will be very useful at sunset, in a dim street; so few peasants wear anything approaching to costume nowadays."
Ernestine herself, however, as we soon discovered, had an entirely different conception of her vocation68. She was a vigorous, active young woman, with the sap of twenty summers in her lusty young veins69. Her energies soon found vent70 in a continuous round of domestic excitements. There were windows and floors that cried aloud to Heaven to be scrubbed; there were holes in the sheets to make mam'zelle's lying between them une honte, une vraie honte. As for Madame Fouchet's little weekly bill, Dieu de Dieu, it was filled with such extortions as to make the very angels weep. Madame and Ernestine did valiant71 battle over those bills thereafter. Ernestine was possessed72 of the courage of a true martyr73; she could suffer and submit to the scourge74, in the matter of personal persecution75, for the religion of her own convictions; but in the service of her rescuer, she could fight with the fierceness of a common soldier.
"When Norman meets Norman—" Charm began one day, the sound of voices, in a high treble of anger, coming in to us through the windows.
But Ernestine was knocking at the door, with a note in her hand.
"An answer is asked, mesdames," she said, in a voice of honey, as she dropped her low courtesy.
This was the missive:
ALONG AN OLD POST-ROAD.
TO HONFLEUR AND TROUVILLE.
点击
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1
dame
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vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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virile
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| adj.男性的；有男性生殖力的；有男子气概的；强有力的 | |
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intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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carousal
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| n.喧闹的酒会 | |
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stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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debauch
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| v.使堕落，放纵 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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petal
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| n.花瓣 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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expending
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| v.花费( expend的现在分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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lawsuits
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| n.诉讼( lawsuit的名词复数 ) | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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intentional
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| adj.故意的，有意（识）的 | |
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deflected
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| 偏离的 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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narrate
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| v.讲，叙述 | |
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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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rudiments
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| n.基础知识，入门 | |
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stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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barbarians
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| n.野蛮人( barbarian的名词复数 )；外国人；粗野的人；无教养的人 | |
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domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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avaricious
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| adj.贪婪的，贪心的 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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intoxicates
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| 使喝醉（intoxicate的第三人称单数形式） | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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scourge
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| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
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persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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