the village rector-第44章

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could　seize　the　slightest　details　on　the　horizon。　What　language　can
render　the　delightful　concert　of　busy　sounds　produced　in　the　village
by　the　return　of　the　workers　from　the　fields？　Such　a　scene；　to　be
rightly　given；　needs　a　great　landscape　artist　and　also　a　great　painter
of　the　human　face。　Is　there　not；　by　the　bye；　in　the　lassitude　of
Nature　and　that　of　man　a　curious　affinity　which　is　difficult　to　grasp？
The　depressing　heat　of　a　dog…day　and　the　rarification　of　the　air　give
to　the　least　sound　made　by　human　beings　all　its　signification。　The
women　seated　on　their　doorsteps　and　waiting　for　their　husbands　（who
often　bring　back　the　children）　gossip　with　each　other　while　still　at
work。　The　roofs　are　casting　up　the　lines　of　smoke　which　tell　of　the
evening　meal；　the　gayest　among　the　peasantry；　after　which；　they　sleep。
All　actions　express　the　tranquil　cheerful　thoughts　of　those　whose
day's　work　is　over。　Songs　are　heard　very　different　in　character　from
those　of　the　morning；　in　this　the　peasants　imitate　the　birds；　whose
warbling　at　night　is　totally　unlike　their　notes　at　dawn。　All　nature
sings　a　hymn　to　rest；　as　it　sang　a　hymn　of　joy　to　the　coming　sun。　The
slightest　movements　of　living　beings　seem　tinted　then　with　the　soft；
harmonious　colors　of　the　sunset　cast　upon　the　landscape　and　lending
even　to　the　dusty　roadways　a　placid　air。　If　any　dared　deny　the
influence　of　this　hour；　the　loveliest　of　the　day；　the　flowers　would
protest　and　intoxicate　his　senses　with　their　penetrating　perfumes；
which　then　exhale　and　mingle　with　the　tender　hum　of　insects　and　the
amorous　note　of　birds。

The　brooks　which　threaded　the　plain　beyond　the　village　were　veiled　in
fleecy　vapor。　In　the　great　meadows　through　which　the　high…road　ran；
bordered　with　poplars；　acacias；　and　ailanthus；　wisely　intermingled　and
already　giving　shade；enormous　and　justly　celebrated　herds　of　cattle
were　scattered　here　and　there；　some　still　grazing；　others　ruminating。
Men；　women；　and　children　were　ending　their　day's　work　in　the　hay…
field；　the　most　picturesque　of　all　the　country　toils。　The　night　air；
freshened　by　distant　storms；　brought　on　its　wings　the　satisfying　odors
of　the　newly　cut　grass　or　the　finished　hay。　Every　feature　of　this
beautiful　panorama　could　be　seen　perfectly；　those　who　feared　a　coming
storm　were　finishing　in　haste　the　hay…stacks；　while　others　followed
with　their　pitchforks　to　fill　the　carts　as　they　were　driven　along　the
rows。　Others　in　the　distance　were　still　mowing；　or　turning　the　long
lines　of　fallen　grass　to　dry　it；　or　hastening　to　pile　it　into　cocks。
The　joyous　laugh　of　the　merry　workers　mingling　with　the　shouts　of　the
children　tumbling　each　other　in　the　hay；　rose　on　the　air。　The　eye
could　distinguish　the　pink；　red；　or　blue　petticoats；　the　kerchiefs；
and　the　bare　legs　and　arms　of　the　women；　all　wearing　broad…brimmed
hats　of　a　coarse　straw；　and　the　shirts　and　trousers　of　the　men；　the
latter　almost　invariably　white。　The　last　rays　of　the　sun　were
filtering　through　the　long　lines　of　poplars　planted　beside　the
trenches　which　divided　the　plain　into　meadows　of　unequal　size；　and
caressing　the　groups　of　horses　and　carts；　men；　women；　children；　and
cattle。　The　cattlemen　and　the　shepherd…girls　were　beginning　to　collect
their　flocks　to　the　sound　of　rustic　horns。

The　scene　was　noisy；　yet　silent；a　paradoxical　statement；　which　will
surprise　only　those　to　whom　the　character　of　country　life　is　still
unknown。　From　all　sides　came　the　carts；　laden　with　fragrant　fodder。
There　was　something；　I　know　not　what；　of　torpor　in　the　scene。
Veronique　walked　slowly　and　silently　between　Gerard　and　the　rector；
who　had　joined　her　on　the　terrace。

Through　the　openings　made　by　the　rural　lanes　running　down　below　the
terrace　to　the　main　street　of　Montegnac　Gerard　and　Monsieur　Bonnet
could　see　the　faces　of　men；　women；　and　children　turned　toward　them；
watching　more　particularly；　no　doubt；　for　Madame　Graslin。　How　much　of
tenderness　and　gratitude　was　expressed　on　those　faces！　How　many
benedictions　followed　Veronique's　footsteps！　With　what　reverent
attention　were　the　three　benefactors　of　a　whole　community　regarded！
Man　was　adding　a　hymn　of　gratitude　to　the　other　chants　of　evening。

While　Madame　Graslin　walked　on　with　her　eyes　fastened　on　the　long；
magnificent　green　pastures；　her　most　cherished　creation；　the　priest
and　the　mayor　did　not　take　their　eyes　from　the　groups　below；　whose
expression　it　was　impossible　to　misinterpret；　pain；　sadness；　and
regret；　mingled　with　hope；　were　plainly　on　all　those　faces。　No　one　in
Montegnac　or　its　neighborhood　was　ignorant　that　Monsieur　Roubaud　had
gone　to　Paris　to　bring　the　best　physician　science　afforded；　or　that
the　benefactress　of　the　whole　district　was　in　the　last　stages　of　a
fatal　illness。　In　all　the　markets　through　a　circumference　of　thirty
miles　the　peasants　asked　those　of　Montegnac；

〃How　is　your　good　woman　now？〃

The　great　vision　of　death　hovered　over　the　land；　and　dominated　that
rural　picture。　Afar；　in　the　fields；　more　than　one　reaper　sharpening
his　scythe；　more　than　one　young　girl；　her　arms　resting　on　her　fork；
more　than　one　farmer　stacking　his　hay；　seeing　Madame　Graslin；　stood
mute　and　thoughtful；　examining　that　noble　woman；　the　blessing　of　the
Correze；　seeking　some　favorable　sign　or　merely　looking　to　admire　her；
impelled　by　a　feeling　that　arrested　their　work。

〃She　is　out　walking；　therefore　she　must　be　better。〃

These　simple　words　were　on　every　lip。

Madame　Graslin's　mother；　seated　on　the　iron　bench　which　Veronique　had
formerly　placed　at　the　end　of　the　terrace；　studied　every　movement　of
her　daughter；　she　watched　her　step　in　walking；　and　a　few　tears　rolled
from　her　eyes。　Aware　of　the　secret　efforts　of　that　superhuman　courage；
she　knew　that　Veronique　at　that　moment　was　suffering　the　tortures　of　a
horrible　agony；　and　only　maintained　herself　erect　by　the　exercise　of
her　heroic　will。　The　tearsthey　seemed　almost　redwhich　forced　their
way　from　those　aged　eyes；　and　furrowed　that　wrinkled　face；　the
parchment　of　which　seemed　incapable　of　softening　under　any　emotion；
excited　those　of　young　Graslin；　whom　Monsieur　Ruffin　had　between　his
knees。

〃What　is　the　matter；　my　boy？〃　said　the　tutor；　anxiously。

〃My　grandmother　is　crying；〃　he　answered。

Monsieur　Ruffin；　whose　eyes　were　on　Madame　Graslin　as　she　came　toward
them；　now　looked　at　Madame　Sauviat；　and　was　powerfully　struck　by　the
aspect　of　that　old　head；　like　that　of　a　Roman　matron；　petrified　with
grief　and　moistened　with　tears。

〃Madame；　why　did　you　not　prevent　her　from　coming　out？〃　said　the　tutor
to　the　old　mother；　august　and　sacred　in　her　silent　grief。

As　Veronique　advanced　majestically　with　her　naturally　fine　and
graceful　step；　Madame　Sauviat；　driven　by　despair　at　the　thought　of
surviving　her　daughter；　allowed　the　secret　of　many　things　that
awakened　curiosity　to　escape　her。

〃How　can　she　walk　like　that；〃　she　cried；　〃wearing　a　horrible　horsehair
shirt；　which　pricks　into　her　skin　perpetually？〃

The　words　horrified　the　young　man；　who　was　not　insensible　to　the
exquisite　grace　of　Veronique's　movements；　he　shuddered　as　he　thought
of　the　constant　and　terrific　struggle　of　the　soul　to　maintain　its
empire　thus　over　the　body。

〃She　has　worn　it　thirteen　years；ever　since　she　ceased　to　nurse　the
boy；〃　said　the　old　woman。　〃She　has　done　miracles　here；　but　if　her
whole　life　were　known　they　ought　to　canonize　her。　Since　she　came　to
Montegnac　no　one　has　ever　seen　her　eat；　and　do　you　know　why？　Aline
serves　her　three　times　a　day　a　piece　of　dry　bread；　and　vegetables
boiled　in　water；　without　salt；　on　a　common　plate　of　red　earth　like
those　they　feed　the　dogs　on。　Yes；　that's　how　the　woman　lives　who　has
given　new　life　to　this　whole　canton。　She　kneels　to　say　her　prayers　on
the　edge　of　that　hair…shirt。　She　says　she　could　not　have　that　smiling
air　you　know　she　always　has　unless　she　practised　these　austerities。　I
tell　you　this；〃　added　the　old　woman；　sinking　her　voice；　〃so　that　you
may　repeat　it　to　the　doctor　that　Monsieur　Roubaud　has　gone　to　fetch。
If　they　could　prevent　my　daughter　from　continuing　these　penances；
perhaps　they　might　still　save　her；　though　death　has　laid　its　hand　upon
her　head。　See　for　yourself！　Ah！　I　must　be　strong　indeed　to　have　borne
so　many　things　these　fifteen　years。〃

The　old　woman　took　her　grandson's　hand　and　passed　it　over　her　forehead
and　cheeks　as　if　the　child's　touch　shed　a　healing　balm　there；　then　she
kissed　it　with　an　affection　the　secret　of　which　belongs　to
grandmothers　as　much　as　it　belongs　to　mothers。

Veronique　was　now　only　a　few　feet　from　the　bench；　in　company　with
Clousier；　the　rector；　and　Gerard。　Illuminated　by　the　glow　of　the
setting　sun；　she　shone　with　a　dreadful　beauty。　Her　yellow　forehead；
furrowed　with　long　wrinkles　massed　one　above　the　other　like　layers　of
clouds；　revealed　a　fixed　thought　in　the　midst　of　inward　troubles。　Her
face；　devoid　of　all　color；　entirely　white　with　the　dead；　greenish
whiteness　of　plants　without　light；　was　thin；　though　not　withered；　and
bore　the　signs　of　terrible　physical　sufferings　produced　by　mental
anguish。　She　fought　her　soul　with　her　body；　and　/vice　versa/。　She　was
so　completely　destroyed　that　she　no　more　resembled　herself　than　an　old
woman　resembles　her　portrait　as　a　girl。　The　ardent　expression　of　her
eyes　declared　the　despotic　empire　exercised　by　a　devout　will　over　a
body　reduced　to　what　religion　requires　it　to　be。　In　this　woman　the
soul　dragged　the　flesh　as　the　Achilles　of　profane　story　dragged
Hector；　for　fifteen　years　she　dragged　it　victoriously　along　the　stony
paths　of　life　around　the　celestial　Jerusalem　she　hoped　to　enter；　not
by　a　vile　deception；　but　with　acclamation。　No　solitary　that　ever　lived
in　the　dry　and　arid　deserts　of　Africa　was　ever　more　master　of　his
senses　than　was　Veronique　in　her　magnificent　chateau；　among　the　soft；
voluptuous　scenery　of　that　opulent　land；　beneath　the　protecting　mantle
of　that　rich　forest；　whence　science；　the　heir　of　Moses'　wand；　had
called　forth　plenty；　prosperity；　and　happiness　for　a　whole　region。　She
contemplated　the　results　of　twelve　years'　patience；　a　work　which　might
have　made　the　fame　of　many　a　superior　man；　with　a　gentle　modesty　such
as　Pontorno　has　painted　in　the　sublime　face　of　his　〃Christian　Chastity
caressing　the　Celestial　Unicorn。〃　The　mistress　of　the　manor；　whose
silence　was　respected　by　her　companions　when　they　saw　that　her　eyes
were　roving　over　those　vast　plains；　once　arid；　and　now　fertile　by　her
will；　walked　on；　her　arms　folded；　with　a　distant　look；　as　if　to　some
far　horizon；　on　her　face。



XX

THE　LAST　STRUGGLE

Suddenly　she　stopped；　a　few　feet　from　her　mother；　who　looked　at　her　as
the　mother　of　Christ　must　have　looked　at　her　son　upon　the　cross。　She
raised　her　hand；　and　pointing　to　the　spot　where　the　road　to　Montegnac
branched　from　the　highway；　she　said；　smiling：

〃See　that　carriage　with　the　post…horses；　Monsieur　Roubaud　is　returning
to　us。　We　shall　now　know　how　many　hours　I　have　to　live。〃

〃Hours？〃　said　Gerard。

〃Did　I　not　tell　you　I　was　taking　my　last　walk？〃　she　replied。　〃I　have
come　here　to　see　for　the　last　time　this　glorious　scene　in　all　its
splendor！〃　She　pointed　first　to　the　village　where　the　whole　population
seemed　to　be　collected　in　the　church　squ