stories by english authors in germany(旅德英国作家的故事)-第10章
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cans； by the side of the gentle old man who always paid him with a tender
caress and with a kindly word。 Besides； his work was over by three or four
in the day； and after that time he was free to do as he wouldto stretch
himself； to sleep in the sun； to wander in the fields； to romp with the
young child； or to play with his fellow…dogs。 Patrasche was very happy。
Fortunately for his peace； his former owner was killed in a drunken
brawl at the kermess of Mechlin； and so sought not after him nor disturbed
him in his new and well…loved home。
A few years later； old Jehan Daas； who had always been a cripple；
became so paralyzed with rheumatism that it was impossible for him to go
out with the cart any more。 Then little Nello； being now grown to his sixth
year of age； and knowing the town well from having accompanied his
grandfather so many times； took his place beside the cart； and sold the
milk and received the coins in exchange； and brought them back to their
respective owners with a pretty grace and seriousness which charmed all
who beheld him。
The little Ardennois was a beautiful child； with dark； grave； tender
eyes； and a lovely bloom upon his face； and fair locks that clustered to his
throat； and many an artist sketched the group as it went by him the green
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cart with the brass flagons of Teniers and Mieris and Van Tal； and the great；
tawny…colored； massive dog； with his belled harness that chimed cheerily
as he went； and the small figure that ran beside him which had little white
feet in great wooden shoes； and a soft； grave； innocent； happy face like the
little fair children of Rubens。
Nello and Patrasche did the work so well and so joyfully together that
Jehan Daas himself； when the summer came and he was better again； had
no need to stir out； but could sit in the doorway in the sun and see them go
forth through the garden wicket； and then doze and dream and pray a little；
and then awake again as the clock tolled three and watch for their return。
And on their return Patrasche would shake himself free of his harness with
a bay of glee； and Nello would recount with pride the doings of the day；
and they would all go in together to their meal of rye bread and milk or
soup； and would see the shadows lengthen over the great plain； and see the
twilight veil the fair cathedral spire； and then lie down together to sleep
peacefully while the old man said a prayer。
So the days and the years went on； and the lives of Nello and Patrasche
were happy； innocent； and healthful。
In the spring and summer especially were they glad。 Flanders is not a
lovely land； and around the burg of Rubens it is perhaps least lovely of all。
Corn and colza； pasture and plough； succeed each other on the
characterless plain in wearying repetition； and； save by some gaunt gray
tower； with its peal of pathetic bells； or some figure coming athwart the
fields； made picturesque by a gleaner's bundle or a woodman's fagot； there
is no change； no variety； no beauty anywhere； and he who has dwelt upon
the mountains or amid the forests feels oppressed as by imprisonment with
the tedium and the endlessness of that vast and dreary level。 But it is green
and very fertile； and it has wide horizons that have a certain charm of their
own even in their dulness and monotony； and among the rushes by the
waterside the flowers grow； and the trees rise tall and fresh where the
barges glide； with their great hulks black against the sun； and their little
green barrels and vari…coloured flags gay against the leaves。 Anyway； there
is greenery and breadth of space enough to be as good as beauty to a child
and a dog； and these two asked no better； when their work was done； than
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to lie buried in the lush grasses on the side of the canal； and watch the
cumbrous vessels drifting by and bringing the crisp salt smell of the sea
among the blossoming scents of the country summer。
True； in the winter it was harder； and they had to rise in the darkness
and the bitter cold； and they had seldom as much as they could have eaten
any day； and the hut was scarce better than a shed when the nights were
cold； although it looked so pretty in warm weather； buried in a great kindly
clambering vine； that never bore fruit； indeed； but which covered it with
luxuriant green tracery all through the months of blossom and harvest。 In
winter the winds found many holes in the walls of the poor little hut； and
the vine was black and leafless； and the bare lands looked very bleak and
drear without； and sometimes within the floor was flooded and then frozen。
In winter it was hard； and the snow numbed the little white limbs of Nello；
and the icicles cut the brave； untiring feet of Patrasche。
But even then they were never heard to lament； either of them。 The
child's wooden shoes and the dog's four legs would trot manfully together
over the frozen fields to the chime of the bells on the harness； and then
sometimes； in the streets of Antwerp； some housewife would bring them a
bowl of soup and a handful of bread； or some kindly trader would throw
some billets of fuel into the little cart as it went homeward； or some
woman in their own village would bid them keep a share of the milk they
carried for their own food； and they would run over the white lands；
through the early darkness； bright and happy； and burst with a shout of joy
into their home。
So； on the whole； it was well with themvery well； and Patrasche；
meeting on the highway or in the public streets the many dogs who toiled
from daybreak into nightfall； paid only with blows and curses； and
loosened from the shafts with a kick to starve and freeze as best they
mightPatrasche in his heart was very grateful to his fate； and thought it
the fairest and the kindliest the world could hold。 Though he was often
very hungry indeed when he lay down at night； though he had to work in
the heats of summer noons and the rasping chills of winter dawns； though
his feet were often tender with wounds from the sharp edges of the jagged
pavement； though he had to perform tasks beyond his strength and against
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his natureyet he was grateful and content； he did his duty with each day；
and the eyes that he loved smiled down on him。 It was sufficient for
Patrasche。
There was only one thing which caused Patrasche any uneasiness in
his life； and it was this。 Antwerp； as all the world knows； is full at every
turn of old piles of stones； dark and ancient and majestic； standing in
crooked courts； jammed against gateways and taverns； rising by the
water's edge； with bells ringing above them in the air； and ever and again
out of their arched doors a swell of music pealing。 There they remain； the
grand old sanctuaries of the past； shut in amid the squalor； the hurry； the
crowds； the unloveliness； and the commerce of the modern world； and all
day long the clouds drift and the birds circle and the winds sigh around
them； and beneath the earth at their feet there sleepsRUBENS。
And the greatness of the mighty master still rests upon Antwerp； and
wherever we turn in its narrow streets his glory lies therein； so that all
mean things are thereby transfigured； and as we pace slowly through the
winding ways； and by the edge of the stagnant water； and through the
noisome courts； his spirit abides with us； and the heroic beauty of his
visions is about us； and the stones that once felt his footsteps and bore his
shadow seem to arise and speak of him with living voices。 For the city
which is the tomb of Rubens still lives to us through him； and him alone。
It is so quiet there by that great white sepulchreso quiet； save only
when the organ peals and the choir cries aloud the Salve Regina or the
Kyrie eleison。 Sure no artist ever had a greater gravestone than that pure
marble sanctuary gives to him in the heart of his birthplace in the chancel
of St。 Jacques。
Without Rubens； what were Antwerp？ A dirty； dusky； bustling mart；
which no man would ever care to look upon save the traders who do
business on its wharves。 With Rubens； to the whole world of men it is a
sacred name； a sacred soil； a Bethlehem where a god of art saw light； a
Golgotha where a god of art lies dead。
O nations！ closely should you treasure your great men； for by them
alone will the future know of you。 Flanders in her generations has been
wise。 In his life she glorified this greatest of her sons； and in his death she
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magnifies his name。 But her wisdom is very rare。
Now； the trouble of Patrasche was this。 Into these great； sad piles of
stones； that reared their melancholy majesty above the crowded roofs； the
child Nello would many and many a time enter； and disappear through
their dark； arched portals； while Patrasche； left without upon the pavement；
would wearily and vainly ponder on what could be the charm which thus
allured from him his inseparable and beloved companion。 Once or twice
he did essay to see for himself； clattering up the steps with his milk…cart
behind him； but thereon he had been always sent back again summarily by
a tall custodian in black clothes and silver chains of office； and fearful of
bringing his little master into trouble； he desisted； and remained couched
patiently before the churches until such time as the boy reappeared。 It was
not the fact of his going into them which disturbed Patrasche； he knew that
people went to church； all the village went to the small； tumble…down；
gray pile opposite the red windmill。 What troubled him was that little
Nel
