"This is Dives, mesdames, this is the inn!"
Pierre drew up, as he spoke3, before a long, low facade4.
Now, no one, I take it, in this world enjoys being duped. Surely disappointment is only a civil term for the varying degrees of fraud practised on the imagination. This inn, apparently5, was to be classed among such frauds. It did not in the least, externally at least, fulfil Renard's promises. He had told us to expect the marvellous and the mediaeval in their most approved period. Yet here we were, facing a featureless exterior6! The facade was built yesterday—that was writ7 large, all over the low, rambling8 structure. One end, it is true, had a gabled end; there was also an old shrine9 niched in glass beneath the gable, and a low Norman gateway10 with rude letters carved over the arch. June was in its glory, and the barrenness of the commonplace structure was mercifully hidden by a wreath of pink and amber11 roses. But one scarcely drives twenty miles in the sun to look upon a facade of roses!
Chat noir, meanwhile, was becoming restless. Pierre had managed to keep his own patience well in hand. Now, however, he broke forth12:
"Shall we enter, my ladies?"
Pierre drove us straight into paradise; for here, at last, within the courtyard, was the inn we had come to seek.
A group of low-gabled buildings surrounded an open court. All of the buildings were timbered, the diagonal beams of oak so old they were black in the sun, and the snowy whiteness of fresh plaster made them seem blacker still. The gabled roofs were of varying tones and tints13; some were red, some mossy green, some as gray as the skin of a mouse; all were deeply, plentifully15 furrowed16 with the washings of countless17 rains, and they were bearded with moss14. There were outside galleries, beginning somewhere and ending anywhere. There were open and covered outer stairways so laden18 with vines they could scarce totter19 to the low heights of the chamber20 doors on which they opened; and there were open sheds where huge farm-wagons were rolled close to the most modern of Parisian dog-carts. That not a note of contrast might be lacking, across the courtyard, in one of the windows beneath a stairway, there flashed the gleam of some rich stained glass, spots of color that were repeated, with quite a different lustre21, in the dappled haunches of rows of sturdy Percherons munching22 their meal in the adjacent stalls. Add to such an ensemble23 a vagrant24 multitude of rose, honeysuckle, clematis, and wistaria vines, all blooming in full rivalry25 of perfume and color; insert in some of the corners and beneath some of the older casements26 archaic27 bits of sculpture—strange barbaric features with beards of Assyrian correctness and forms clad in the rigid28 draperies of the early Jumièges period of the sculptor29's art; lance above the roof ridges30 the quaint31 polychrome finials of the earlier Palissy models; and crowd the rough cobble-paved courtyard with a rare and distinguished32 assemblage of flamingoes, peacocks, herons, cockatoos swinging from gabled windows, and game-cocks that strut33 about in company with pink doves—and you have the famous inn of Guillaume le Conquérant!
Meanwhile an individual, with fine deep-gray eyes, and a face grave, yet kindly34, over which a smile was humorously breaking, was patiently waiting at our carriage door. He could be no other than Monsieur Paul, owner and inn-keeper, also artist, sculptor, carver, restorer, to whom, in truth, this miracle of an inn owed its present perfection and picturesqueness35.
"We have been long expecting you, mesdames," Monsieur Paul's grave voice was saying. "Monsieur Renard had written to announce your coming. You took the trouble to drive along the coast this fine day? It is idyllically36 lovely, is it not—under such a sun?"
Evidently the moment of enchantment37 was not to be broken by the worker of the spell. Monsieur Paul and his inn were one; if one was a poem the other was a poet. The poet was also lined with the man of the practical moment. He had quickly summoned a host of serving-people to take charge of us and our luggage.
"Lizette, show these ladies to the room of Madame de Sévigné. If they desire a sitting-room—to the Marmousets."
The inn-keeper gave his commands in the quiet, well-bred tone of a man of the world, to a woman in peasant's dress. She led us past the open court to an inner one, where we were confronted with a building still older, apparently, than those grouped about the outer quadrangle. The peasant passed quickly beneath an overhanging gallery, draped in vines. She was next preceding us up a spiral turret38 stairway; the adjacent walls were hung here and there with faded bits of tapestry39. Once more she turned to lead us along an open gallery; on this several rooms appeared to open. On each door a different sign was painted in rude Gothic letters. The first was "Chambre de l'Officier;" the second, "Chambre du Curé," and the next was flung widely open. It was the room of the famous lady of the incomparable Letters. The room might have been left—in the yesterday of two centuries—by the lady whose name it bore. There was a beautiful Seventeenth century bedstead, a couple of wide arm-chairs, with down pillows for seats, and a clothes press with the carvings40 and brass41 work peculiar42 to the epoch43 of Louis XIV. The chintz hangings and draperies were in keeping, being copies of the brocades of that day. There were portraits in miniature of the courtiers and the ladies of the Great Reign44 on the very ewers45 and basins. On the flounced dressing-table, with its antique glass and a diminutive46 patch-box, now the receptacle of Lubin's powder, a sprig of the lovely Rose The was exhaling47 a faint, far-away century perfume. It was surely a stage set for a real comedy; some of these high-coiffed ladies, who knows? perhaps Madame de Sévigné herself would come to life, and give to the room the only thing it lacked—the living presence of that old world grace and speech.
Presently, we sallied forth on a further voyage of discovery. We had reached the courtyard when Monsieur Paul crossed it; it was to ask if, while waiting for the noon breakfast, we would care to see the kitchen; it was, perhaps, different to those now commonly seen in modern taverns48.
The kitchen which was thus modestly described as unlike those of our own century might easily, except for the appetizing smell of the cooking fowls49 and the meats, have been put under lock and key and turned over to a care-taker as a full-fledged culinary museum of antiquities51. One entire side of the crowded but orderly little room was taken up by a huge open fireplace. The logs resting on the great andirons were the trunks of full-grown trees. On two of the spits were long rows of fowl50 and legs of mutton roasting; the great chains were being slowly turned by a chef in the paper cap of his profession. In deep burnished52 brass bowls lay water-cresses; in Caen dishes of an age to make a bric-a-brac collector turn green with envy, a Béarnaise sauce was being beaten by another gallic master-hand. Along the beams hung old Rouen plates and platters; in the numberless carved Normandy cupboards gleamed rare bits of Delft and Limoges; the walls may be said to have been hung with Normandy brasses53, each as burnished as a jewel. The floor was sanded and the tables had attained54 that satiny finish which comes only with long usage and tireless use of the brush. There was also a shrine and a clock, the latter of antique Norman make and design.
The smell of the roasting fowls and the herbs used by the maker55 of the sauces, a hungry palate found even more exciting than this most original of kitchens. There was a wine that went with the sauce; this fact Monsieur Paul explained, on our sitting down to the noonday meal; one which, in remembrance of Monsieur Renard's injunctions, he would suggest our trying. He crossed the courtyard and disappeared into the bowels56 of the earth, beneath one of the inn buildings, to bring forth a bottle incrusted with layers of moist dirt. This Sauterne was by some, Monsieur Paul smilingly explained, considered as among the real treasures of the inn. Both it and the sauce, we were enabled to assure him a moment later, had that golden softness which make French wines and French sauces at their best the rapture57 of the palate.
In the courtyard, as our breakfast proceeded, a variety of incidents was happening. We were facing the open archway; through it one looked out upon the high-road. A wheelbarrow passed, trundled by a peasant-girl; the barrow stopped, the girl leaving it for an instant to cross the court.
"Bonjour, mère—"
"Bonjour, ma fille—it goes well?" a deep guttural voice responded, just outside of the window.
"Justement—I came to tell you the mare58 has foaled and Jean will be late to-night."
"Bien."
"And Barbarine is still angry—"
"Make up with her, my child—anger is an evil bird to take to one's heart," the deep voice went on.
"It is my mother," explained Monsieur Paul. "It is her favorite seat, out yonder, on the green bench in the courtyard. I call it her judge's bench," he smiled, indulgently, as he went on. "She dispenses59 justice with more authority than any other magistrate60 in town. I am Mayor, as it happens, just now; but madame my mother is far above me, in real power. She rules the town and the country about, for miles. Everyone comes to her sooner or later for counsel and command. You will soon see for yourselves."
A murmur61 of assent62 from all the table accompanied Monsieur Paul's prophecy.
"Femme vraiment remarquable," hoarsely63 whispered a stout64 breakfaster, behind his napkin, between two spoonsful of his soup.
"Not two in a century like her," said my neighbor.
"No—nor two in all France—non plus," retorted the stout man.
"She could rule a kingdom—hey, Paul?"
"She rules me—as you see—and a man is harder to govern than a province, they say," smiled Monsieur Paul with a humorous relish65, obviously the offspring of experience. "In France, mesdames," he added, a sweeter look of feeling coming into the deep eyes, "you see we are always children—toujours enfants—as long as the mother lives. We are never really old till she dies. May the good God preserve her!" and he lifted his glass toward the green bench. The table drank the toast, in silence.
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1
thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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2
resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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3
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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4
facade
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| n.(建筑物的)正面，临街正面；外表 | |
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5
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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7
writ
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| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
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8
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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9
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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10
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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11
amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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13
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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14
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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15
plentifully
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| adv. 许多地，丰饶地 | |
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16
furrowed
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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18
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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19
totter
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| v.蹒跚， 摇摇欲坠；n.蹒跚的步子 | |
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20
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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21
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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22
munching
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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23
ensemble
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| n.合奏(唱)组；全套服装；整体，总效果 | |
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24
vagrant
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| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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25
rivalry
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| n.竞争，竞赛，对抗 | |
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26
casements
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| n.窗扉( casement的名词复数 ) | |
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27
archaic
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| adj.(语言、词汇等)古代的，已不通用的 | |
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28
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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29
sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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30
ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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31
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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32
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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33
strut
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| v.肿胀，鼓起；大摇大摆地走；炫耀；支撑；撑开；n.高视阔步；支柱，撑杆 | |
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34
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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35
picturesqueness
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idyllically
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enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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38
turret
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| n.塔楼，角塔 | |
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39
tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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40
carvings
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| n.雕刻( carving的名词复数 )；雕刻术；雕刻品；雕刻物 | |
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41
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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42
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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43
epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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44
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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45
ewers
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| n.大口水壶，水罐( ewer的名词复数 ) | |
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46
diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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47
exhaling
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的现在分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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48
taverns
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| n.小旅馆，客栈，酒馆( tavern的名词复数 ) | |
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49
fowls
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| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
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50
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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51
antiquities
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| n.古老( antiquity的名词复数 )；古迹；古人们；古代的风俗习惯 | |
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52
burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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53
brasses
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| n.黄铜( brass的名词复数 )；铜管乐器；钱；黄铜饰品（尤指马挽具上的黄铜圆片） | |
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54
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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55
maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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56
bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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57
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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58
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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59
dispenses
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| v.分配，分与；分配( dispense的第三人称单数 )；施与；配（药） | |
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60
magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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61
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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62
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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63
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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65
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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