For the convenience of the fisher-folk an L-shaped stone pier5 has been raised in the sea. The duty of watching over this structure, whose stability was often threatened by the fury of the Atlantic, pertained6 to Paul Marais, familiarly known as "Old Pol," who, to his office of harbour-master added likewise that of collector of the customs.
Paul Marais dwelt in the street called, perhaps by way of satire7, La Grande. His house was a quaint8 mixture of timber and stone, with dormer lattices set in the red tiles of the roof. It leaned against its neighbour for support, with every doorway9 and window-frame out of the perpendicular10. Yet it had stood firm during three centuries, and would probably continue to stand during as many more.
One chill afternoon in March Old Pol was sauntering[Pg 2] to and fro in front of his house, thoughtfully smoking a pipe. After half an hour spent in this pleasant idling he suddenly quickened his pace and entered his abode11, passing to the parlour with its red-tiled sanded floor, where, around the bright polished chaufferette sat Madame Marais and three or four old dames12, all busily knitting, and all enjoying those pleasures dear to the heart of every Breton woman, to wit, cider and gossip.
"Celestine," said Pol, "the diligence is coming."
And Pol, expecting no other answer, whistled softly and withdrew.
To explain madame's reproof14 it is necessary to state that two or three years previously15 a gentleman calling himself a count had visited Quilaix, and, charmed with the old-world air of the place, had dwelt in Pol's house for the space of six months.
The handsome profit derived16 by Pol on this occasion disposed him to look forward to the coming of other visitors: but, alas17! Quilaix is too obscure to be mentioned in the ordinary manuals issued for the guidance of tourists. The count's sojourn18 was an exception to the normal course of events.
Nevertheless Pol would not abandon hope; and, day by day, he awaited the arrival of the diligence, for the purpose of inviting19 the chance stranger to his own dwelling20, before any other person should have the opportunity of appropriating him.
"Everything comes to the man who waits," muttered Pol to himself, as he watched the distant vehicle swaying its zigzag21 course down the hillside road. "This diligence is perhaps bringing me a visitor. Who can tell?"
Twilight22 drew on; and, as the lamplighter was preparing the illumination of La Rue23 Grande by the primitive[Pg 3] method of fixing an oil-lantern to the middle of a rope slung24 across the street, the diligence came up, but instead of going on as usual to the auberge in the little market square, the driver stopped short in front of Pol's house, and there alighted a young lady accompanied by a little boy, a child of two years.
"Madame Marais lives here?" she asked with an inquiring glance at Pol.
"My wife's name," replied Pol. He pocketed his pipe, doffed25 his cap, and bowed profoundly. "Permit me to lead you to her.—By the saints," he muttered to himself, "a boarder at last, or may I lose my harbour-mastership. Now, Celestine, it is my turn to laugh at you."
The young lady, holding the child by the hand, followed Pol to the parlour.
"God bless you all, great and small," she said, using the greeting customary in that part of Brittany.
"Heaven bless you, too, stranger, whoever you may be," replied all, as they rose and curtsied.
This intercourse26 was conducted in the Breton tongue, the guttural voices of Madame Marais and her companions forming a marked contrast with the sweet voice of the stranger.
"Can one have apartments here? The voiturier has assured me that one can."
Pol, about to reply with an eager affirmative, was checked by a glance from his more cautious spouse27, who was not disposed to give herself away too easily or too cheaply.
"It is not our custom to accommodate visitors," she replied, speaking with great dignity. "At least, not as a rule. But still with a little trouble we might arrange. How many rooms does madame require. Would four be——"
"That number will do. Will you let me see them?"
[Pg 4]
After a brief inspection28 the lady expressed her approval, being especially pleased with the sitting-room29, an apartment marked by a charming air of antiquity30. The oak flooring and pannelling were black with age. Within the huge fireplace an ox could have been roasted whole. Over the carved mantel was a boar's head, a trophy31 gained by Pol in a hunting expedition among the Breton hills. On a dark oaken press an ivory crucifix, browned by time, imparted a sort of solemnity to the place.
Terms were arranged; and the lady's luggage was brought in and deposited up-stairs by the strong arm of Pol himself.
"How long is madame likely to remain here?" asked the harbour-master's wife, lingering with her hand on the handle of the sitting-room door.
"Months. Years, perhaps," replied the stranger with a sad smile. "That is," she went on, "if you are willing to let me stay so long."
"And madame's name is——?"
"Edith Breakspear."
"Breakspear? Then madame is not French?" exclaimed the harbour-master's wife, wondering to what nationality she should ascribe the name.
"No, I am English," said the lady, with a faint touch of pride in her voice.
"Madame speaks the Breton like an angel."
"I have lived a long time in Brittany."
"Ah! madame loves Brittany," said the other, who like all Bretons was intensely patriotic32. "The climate reminds her of her own land. We Bretons came from England. Centuries ago. And when we came we brought the weather with us. Is it not so?"
And with these words she smiled herself out of the room, and went down-stairs to discuss the event with her cronies.
[Pg 5]
"She is going to pay me four Napoleons a week. Think of that now! It is more than the count ever gave. Ah, ciel! but if I had been wearing my best Sunday cap with its point lace and gold embroidery33 I could have asked double. But how could one ask more with only a plain white cap on, and a necklace of blue beads34?"
As may be guessed, the coming of a stranger into the little world of Quilaix set the tongues of all the gossips wagging. The men were as much interested as the women, and various were the surmises35 of the nightly frequenters of the Auberge des Pêcheurs as to her previous history. But of this they could learn nothing. Mrs. Breakspear let fall no word as to her past, and even Madame Marais' keen eyes failed to penetrate36 the veil of mystery that undoubtedly37 hung around "The English lady."
Mrs. Breakspear had not seen more than twenty-one summers; she was in truth so girlish in appearance that the people of Quilaix could scarcely bring their lips to use the matronly "Madame," but more frequently addressed her as "Mademoiselle." It was clear that some secret sorrow was casting its shadow over her young life. Her pale face and subdued38 air, the sad expression in her eyes, were the visible tokens of a grief, too strong to be repressed or forgotten.
As she was always dressed in black the gossips concluded that she was in mourning, the general opinion being that she had recently lost her husband, though a few ill-natured persons sneered39 at the word "husband," in spite of her gold wedding-ring.
Mrs. Breakspear made no attempt to form friendships. Firmly, yet without hauteur40, she repelled41 all advances, from whatever quarter they came. She seemed to desire no other companionship than that of her child, Idris. He was evidently the one being that reconciled her to life.
[Pg 6]
Thus passed five years: and Mrs. Breakspear, though still as great a mystery as ever to the people of Quilaix, ceased to occupy the chief place in their gossip.
Idris was now seven years old, a handsome little fellow, endowed with an intelligence beyond his years.
His education was undertaken solely42 by his mother, concerning whom the opinion went, that, in the matter of learning, she was equal, if not superior, to Monsieur le Curé, the only other person in the place with any pretensions43 to scholarship.
At the back of Quilaix rises the moorland, an extensive wind-swept region, blossoming in early summer with the beautiful broom that furnished our first Plantagenet with his crest45 and surname. Over this brown, purple-dotted expanse run two white lines intersecting each other in the shape of the letter X. These lines indicate the only two roads over the moor44; and, just at the point of intersection46, there stands an irregular block of grey stone buildings.
The part of the moorland immediately above the town was the usual place of study, that is, whenever the day was warm and sunny. Then, mother and son would climb to some high point, and seat themselves on the grass; and while the boy, with the breeze of heaven lifting the curls from his temples, would endeavour to fix his eyes on his books, Mrs. Breakspear would fix hers on the grey stone building. Nothing else on land or sea seemed to have any interest for her. The distant and beautiful hills would often change their colour from grey to violet beneath the alternation of sunshine and cloud: ships with their fair sails set would glide47 daily from the haven48 of Quilaix; bands of Catholic pilgrims, bound for some local shrine49, would occasionally cross the moorland, carrying banners and singing hymns50: sea-gulls would wheel their screaming flight aloft: trout51 leap and[Pg 7] gleam in the brook52 at her feet. But Mrs. Breakspear had eyes for none of these things. Her attention, when not given to Idris and his book, was set upon the lone53, dun edifice.
On certain days human figures, dwarfed54 by the distance, would issue from the building, spreading themselves in little groups over the landscape; and, after remaining out some hours, would return upon the firing of a gun. At such times Mrs. Breakspear would clasp her hands and gaze wistfully on the distant moving figures.
One day her emotion was too great to escape the boy's notice: and, following the direction of her eyes, he said, speaking in English, the language used by them when alone:—
"Mother, what are those men doing?"
"What for?"
"Well, to make churches with, for one thing," replied the mother, with a curious smile.
"What! churches like that?"
And Idris pointed57 to the Chapelle des Pêcheurs, which glowed in the setting sunlight like sculptured bronze.
"Yes: they quarry56 the stone and shape it into blocks, which are then sent to Nantes, or Paris, or wherever wanted, and fitted together."
Idris was silent for a few moments, turning the information over in his mind.
"They must be good men to make churches," he presently remarked.
"On the contrary, they are bad men."
Idris was puzzled at this, being evidently of opinion that the character of the work sanctified the workers.
"Then why do they cut stone for churches?"
"Because they are made to do so by other men who watch to see that the work is done."
[Pg 8]
Idris becoming more puzzled at this compulsory58 state of labour, returned to the moral character of the workers.
"Are they all bad—every one?"
"No; not all," exclaimed his mother, with an energy that quite surprised the little fellow. "There is one there who is the best, the truest, the noblest of men."
Her eyes sparkled, and a beautiful colour burned on her cheek. She sat with a proud air as if defying the world to say the contrary.
"Is he as good as father was?"
"Why, you have said that no one was ever so good as father."
"Have I? Well, this man is. There is no difference between them."
"If he is so good, why has he to work among all those bad men?"
"Some day, child, you shall know," replied his mother, folding him within her arms. "Don't ask any more questions, Idie."
"Why doesn't he run away?" persisted the little fellow.
"Because soldiers are there, who would shoot him down if he tried to escape," said Mrs. Breakspear with a shudder60. "Come, let us be going. It is growing cold. See how the mist is rising!"
The boom of a distant gun was rolling faintly over the moorland. A fog creeping up from the sea curtained the prison from view as they turned to descend61 the slope that led to Quilaix.
It was market-day. Buying and selling had now come to an end, but many persons still lingered in the square, chiefly natives from remote districts. "Robinson Crusoes," Idris called them, nor was the name inappropriate.[Pg 9] Clad in garments of goatskin with the hairy side turned outwards62, and with long tresses hanging like manes from beneath their broad-brimmed hats, they might have been taken for wild men of the woods: a wildness that was in appearance only, for no one is more tender-hearted than the Breton peasant.
Suddenly there was a movement among them, and it could be seen that they were forming a circle around a man who had just made his appearance. The maidens63, who were beating and washing clothes in the stream that flowed along one side of the square, ceased their work and came running up to the circle, their wooden sabots sounding upon the stone pavement.
The cause of all this commotion64 was a man belonging to a class, formerly65 more common in Brittany than nowadays, the class called Kloers or itinerant66 minstrels, who recite verses of their own composing upon any topic that happens to be uppermost in the public mind, accompanying their rude improvisation67 upon the three-stringed rebec.
"It is André the Kloer," cried Idris gleefully, who had caught a glimpse of the minstrel. "Let us listen. He will tell us some fine stories."
The Kloer having glanced towards the ground at his hat, which contained several sous, said:—
"For your help, friends, many thanks. I will now recite 'The Ballad68 of the Ring,' a ballad dealing69 with a murder that happened some years ago at Nantes."
The minstrel spoke70 in the language of the province, a language which Idris understood as well as any Breton boy of his own age. The word "murder" gave promise of something exciting. He glanced up at his mother, supposing that she, too, would be equally interested in the coming story: but, to his surprise, he saw that her face had become whiter than usual—that it wore a[Pg 10] strange look, a look of fear, a look he had never before seen. The hand that held his own was trembling, and, in a voice so changed from its ordinary tone as to be scarcely recognizable, she said:—
"Home, Idie, let us go home."
Suddenly the Kloer paused in the midst of his speaking. A tender expression came over his face; a gentle light shone from his eyes, and with hand solemnly uplifted, he said:—
"Christian71 brethren, ere we go further let us all say a Pater and a De Profundis for the assassin as well as for his victim."
In a moment his hearers with spontaneous and genuine piety72 were kneeling upon the pavement, their heads bowed, their hats doffed, while the Kloer, after making the sign of the cross, began to say the prayers.
As Idris and his mother alone remained standing73 the attention of the minstrel was naturally drawn74 to them. No sooner did his eyes fall upon Mrs. Breakspear than a change came over him. His look of solemnity was succeeded by one of wonderment, and after stammering75 out a few broken phrases, which, though intended as pious76 petitions to Heaven, conveyed scarcely any meaning to his hearers, he brought his prayer to an abrupt77 conclusion.
"Good folk," he cried, "I will not give you 'The Ballad of the Ring.' It is too mournful. It would sadden the hearts of some who are present."
Mrs. Breakspear tightened78 her grasp on the wrist of Idris, and, much to his grief, drew him away from the presence of the Kloer, and hurried him onward79 to Pol's house.
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收听单词发音
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1
granitic
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| 花岗石的，由花岗岩形成的 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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counterfeit
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| vt.伪造，仿造；adj.伪造的，假冒的 | |
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edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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pertained
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| 关于( pertain的过去式和过去分词 )； 有关； 存在； 适用 | |
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satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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11
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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12
dames
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| n.（在英国）夫人（一种封号），夫人（爵士妻子的称号）( dame的名词复数 )；女人 | |
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tart
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| adj.酸的；尖酸的，刻薄的；n.果馅饼；淫妇 | |
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14
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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15
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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16
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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17
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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18
sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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19
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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21
zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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22
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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24
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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25
doffed
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| v.脱去，（尤指）脱帽( doff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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26
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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27
spouse
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| n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
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28
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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29
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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30
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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31
trophy
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| n.优胜旗，奖品，奖杯，战胜品，纪念品 | |
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patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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33
embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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34
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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35
surmises
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的第三人称单数 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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39
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
hauteur
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| n.傲慢 | |
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41
repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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42
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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44
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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45
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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46
intersection
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| n.交集，十字路口，交叉点；[计算机] 交集 | |
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47
glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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48
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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49
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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50
hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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51
trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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52
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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53
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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54
dwarfed
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| vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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55
quarrying
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| v.采石；从采石场采得( quarry的现在分词 )；从（书本等中）努力发掘（资料等）；在采石场采石 | |
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56
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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57
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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58
compulsory
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| n.强制的，必修的；规定的，义务的 | |
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59
softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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60
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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61
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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62
outwards
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| adj.外面的，公开的，向外的；adv.向外；n.外形 | |
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63
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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64
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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65
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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66
itinerant
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| adj.巡回的；流动的 | |
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67
improvisation
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| n.即席演奏(或演唱)；即兴创作 | |
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68
ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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69
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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70
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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71
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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72
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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73
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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74
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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75
stammering
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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76
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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77
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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78
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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