martin guerre- 第2部分

His　tormentor　allowed　him　to　swallow　a　mouthful；　then　overwhelmed　him

with　questions　as　to　his　family；　his　friends　and　fortune；　and

compelled　him　to　answer　by　keeping　before　his　eyes　the　water　which

alone　could　relieve　the　fever　which　devoured　him。　　After　this　often

interrupted　interrogation；　the　sufferer　sank　back　exhausted；　and

almost　insensible。　　But；　not　yet　satisfied；　his　companion　conceived

the　idea　of　reviving　him　with　a　few　drops　of　brandy；　which　quickly

brought　back　the　fever；　and　excited　his　brain　sufficiently　to　enable

him　to　answer　fresh　questions。　　The　doses　of　spirit　were　doubled

several　times；　at　the　risk　of　ending　the　unhappy　man's　days　then　and

there：　Almost　delirious；　his　head　feeling　as　if　on　fire；　his

sufferings　gave　way　to　a　feverish　excitement；　which　took　him　back　to

other　places　and　other　times：　he　began　to　recall　the　days　of　his

youth　and　the　country　where　he　lived。　　But　his　tongue　was　still

fettered　by　a　kind　of　reserve：　his　secret　thoughts；　the　private

details　of　his　past　life　were　not　yet　told；　and　it　seemed　as　though

he　might　die　at　any　moment。　　Time　was　passing；　night　already　coming

on；　and　it　occurred　to　the　merciless　questioner　to　profit　by　the

gathering　darkness。　　By　a　few　solemn　words　he　aroused　the　religious

feelings　of　the　sufferer；　terrified　him　by　speaking　of　the

punishments　of　another　life　and　the　flames　of　hell；　until　to　the

delirious　fancy　of　the　sick　man　he　took　the　form　of　a　judge　who　could

either　deliver　him　to　eternal　damnation　or　open　the　gates　of　heaven

to　him。　　At　length；　overwhelmed　by　a　voice　which　resounded　in　his　ear

like　that　of　a　minister　of　God；　the　dying　man　laid　bare　his　inmost

soul　before　his　tormentor；　and　made　his　last　confession　to　him。



Yet　a　few　moments；　and　the　executionerhe　deserves　no　other　name

hangs　over　his　victim；　opens　his　tunic；　seizes　some　papers　and　a　few

coins；　half　draws　his　dagger；　but　thinks　better　of　it；　then；

contemptuously　spurning　the　victim；　as　the　other　surgeon　had　done



〃I　might　kill　you；〃　he　says；　〃but　it　would　be　a　useless　murder；　it

would　only　be　hastening　your　last　Sigh　by　an　hour　or　two；　and

advancing　my　claims　to　your　inheritance　by　the　same　space　of　time。〃



And　he　adds　mockingly：



〃Farewell；　my　brother！〃



The　wounded　soldier　utters　a　feeble　groan；　the　adventurer　leaves　the

room。





Four　months　later；　a　woman　sat　at　the　door　of　a　house　at　one　end　；of

the　village　of　Artigues；　near　Rieux；　and　played　with　a　child　about

nine　or　ten　years　of　age。　　Still　young；　she　had　the　brown　complexion

of　Southern　women；　and　her　beautiful　black　hair　fell　in　curls　about

her　face。　　Her　flashing　eyes　occasionally　betrayed　hidden　passions；

concealed；　however；　beneath　an　apparent　indifference　and　lassitude；

and　her　wasted　form　seemed　to　acknowledge　the　existence　of　some

secret　grief。　　An　observer　would　have　divined　a　shattered　life；　a

withered　happiness；　a　soul　grievously　wounded。



Her　dress　was　that　of　a　wealthy　peasant；　and　she　wore　one　of　the　long

gowns　with　hanging　sleeves　which　were　in　fashion　in　the　sixteenth

century。　　The　house　in　front　of　which　she　sat　belonged　to　her；　so

also　the　immense　field　which　adjoined　the　garden。　　Her　attention　was

divided　between　the　play　of　her　son　and　the　orders　she　was　giving　to

an　old　servant；　when　an　exclamation　from　the　child　startled　her。



〃Mother！〃　he　cried；　〃mother；　there　he　is！〃



She　looked　where　the　child　pointed；　and　saw　a　young　boy　turning　the

corner　of　the　street。



〃Yes；〃　continued　the　child；　〃that　is　the　lad　who；　when　I　was　playing

with　the　other　boys　yesterday；　called　me　all　sorts　of　bad　names。〃



〃What　sort　of　names；　my　child？〃



〃There　was　one　I　did　not　understand；　but　it　must　have　been　a　very　bad

one；　for　the　other　boys　all　pointed　at　me；　and　left　me　alone。　　He

called　meand　he　said　it　was　only　what　his　mother　had　told　himhe

called　me　a　wicked　bastard！〃



His　mother's　face　became　purple　with　indignation。　　〃What！〃　she　cried；

〃they　dared！　　。　　。　　。　　What　an　insult！〃



〃What　does　this　bad　word　mean；　mother？〃　asked　the　child；　half

frightened　by　her　anger。　　〃Is　that　what　they　call　poor　children　who

have　no　father？〃



His　mother　folded　him　in　her　arms。　　〃Oh！〃　she　continued；　〃it　is　an

infamous　slander！　　These　people　never　saw　your　father；　they　have　only

been　here　six　years；　and　this　is　the　eighth　since　he　went　away；　but

this　is　abominable！　　We　were　married　in　that　church；　we　came　at　once

to　live　in　this　house；　which　was　my　marriage　portion；　and　my　poor

Martin　has　relations　and　friends　here　who　will　not　allow　his　wife　to

be　insulted〃



〃Say　rather；　his　widow；〃　interrupted　a　solemn　voice。



〃Ah！　uncle！〃　exclaimed　the　woman；　turning　towards　an　old　man　who　had

just　emerged　from　the　house。



〃Yes；　Bertrande；〃　continued　the　new…comer；　〃you　must　get　reconciled

to　the　idea　that　my　nephew　has　ceased　to　exist。　　I　am　sure　he　was　not

such　a　fool　as　to　have　remained　all　this　time　without　letting　us　hear

from　him。　　He　was　not　the　fellow　to　go　off　at　a　tangent；　on　account

of　a　domestic　quarrel　which　you　have　never　vouchsafed　to　explain　to

me；　and　to　retain　his　anger　during　all　these　eight　years！　　Where　did

he　go？　　What　did　he　do？　　We　none　of　us　know；　neither　you　nor　I；　nor

anybody　else。　　He　is　assuredly　dead；　and　lies　in　some　graveyard　far

enough　from　here。　　May　God　have　mercy　on　his　soul！〃



Bertrande；　weeping；　made　the　sign　of　the　cross；　and　bowed　her　head

upon　her　hands。



〃Good…bye；　Sanxi；〃　said　the　uncle；　tapping　the　child's；'　cheek。

Sanxi　turned　sulkily　away。



There　was　certainly　nothing　specially　attractive　about　the　uncle：　he

belonged　to　a　type　which　children　instinctively　dislike；　false；

crafty；　with　squinting　eyes　which　continually　appeared　to　contradict

his　honeyed　tongue。



〃Bertrande；〃　he　said；　〃your　boy　is　like　his　father　before　him；　and

only　answers　my　kindness　with　rudeness。〃



〃Forgive　him；〃　answered　the　mother；　〃he　is　very　young；　and　does　not

understand　the　respect　due　to　his　father's　uncle。　　I　will　teach　him

better　things；　he　will　soon　learn　that　he　ought　to　be　grateful　for

the　care　you　have　taken　of　his　little　property。〃



〃No　doubt；　no　doubt；〃　said　the　uncle；　trying　hard　to　smile。　　〃I　will

give　you　a　good　account　of　it；　for　I　shall　only　have　to　reckon　with

you　two　in　future。　　Come；　my　dear；　believe　me；　your　husband　is　really

dead；　and　you　have　sorrowed　quite　enough　for　a　good…for…nothing

fellow。　　Think　no　more　of　him。〃



So　saying；　he　departed；　leaving　the　poor　young　woman　a　prey　to　the

saddest　thoughts。



Bertrande　de　Rolls；　naturally　gifted　with　extreme　sensibility；　on

which　a　careful　education　had　imposed　due　restraint；　had　barely

completed　her　twelfth　year　when　she　was　married　to　Martin　Guerre；　a

boy　of　about　the　same　age；　such　precocious　unions　being　then　not

uncommon；　especially　in　the　Southern　provinces。　　They　were　generally

settled　by　considerations　of　family　interest；　assisted　by　the

extremely　early　development　habitual　to　the　climate。　　The　young

couple　lived　for　a　long　time　as　brother　and　sister；　and　Bertrande；

thus　early　familiar　with　the　idea　of　domestic　happiness；　bestowed　her

whole　affection　on　the　youth　whom　she　had　been　taught　to　regard　as

her　life's　companion。　　He　was　the　Alpha　and　Omega　of　her　existence；

all　her　love；　all　her　thoughts；　were　given　to　him；　and　when　their

marriage　was　at　length　completed；　the　birth　of　a　son　seemed　only

another　link　in　the　already　long　existing　bond　of　union。　　But；　as

many　wise　men　have　remarked；　a　uniform　happiness；　which　only　attaches

women　more　and　more；　has　often　upon　men　a　precisely　contrary　effect；

and　so　it　was　with　Martin　Guerre。　　Of　a　lively　and　excitable

temperament；　he　wearied　of　a　yoke　which　had　been　imposed　so　early；

and；　anxious　to　see　the　world　and　enjoy　some　freedom；　he　one　day　took

advantage　of　a　domestic　difference；　in　which　Bertrande　owned　herself

to　have　been　wrong；　and　left　his　house　and　family。　　He　was　sought　and

awaited　in　vain。　　Bertrande　spent　the　first　month　in　vainly　expecting

his　return；　then　she　betook　herself　to　prayer；　but　Heaven　appeared

deaf　to　her　supplications；　the　truant　returned　not。　　She　wished　to　go

in　search　of　him；　but　the　world　is　wide；　and　no　single　trace　remained

to　guide　her。　　What　torture　for　a　tender　heart！　　What　suffering　for　a

soul　thirsting　for　love！　　What　sleepless　nights！　　What　restless

vigils！　　Years　passed　thus；　her　son　was　growing　up；　yet　not　a　word

reached　her　from　the　man　she　loved　so　much。　　She　spoke　often　of　him

to　the　uncomprehending　child；　she　sought　to　discover　his　features　in

those　of　her　boy；　but　though　she　endeavoured　to　concentrate　her　whole

affection　on　her　son；　she　realised　that　there　is　suffering　which

maternal　love　cannot　console；　and　tears　which　it　cannot　dry。

Consumed　by　the　strength　of　the　sorrow　which　ever　dwelt　in　her　heart；

the　poor　woman　was　slowly　wasting；　worn　out　by　the　regrets　of　the

past；　the　vain　desires　of　the　present；　and　the　dreary　prospect　of　the

future。　　And　now　she　had　been　openly　insulted；　her　feelings　as　a

mother　wounded　to　the　quirk；　and　her　husband's　uncle；　instead　of

defending　and　consoling　her；　could　give　only　cold　counsel　and

unsympathetic　words！



Pierre　Guerre；　indeed；　was　simply　a　thorough　egotist。　　In　his　youth

he　had　been　charged　with　usury；　no　one　knew　by　what　means　he　had

become　rich；　for　the　little　drapery　trade　which　he　called　his

profession　did　not　appear　to　be　very　profitable。



After　his　nephew's　departure　it　seemed　only　natural　that　he　should

pose　as　the　family　guardian；　and　he　applied　himself　to　the　task　of

increasing　the　little　income；　but　without　considering　himself　bound

to　give　any　account　to　Bertrande。　　So；　once　persuaded　that　Martin　was

no　more；　he　was　apparently　not　unwilling　to　prolong　a　situation　so

much　to　his　own　advantage。



Night　was　fast　coming　on；　in　the　dim　twilight　distant　objects　became

confused　and　indistinct。　　It