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travels with a donkey in the cevennes-第24章

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except our travelling feet。  On the opposite slope; the monstrous 

ribs and gullies of the mountain were faintly designed in the 

moonshine; and high overhead; in some lone house; there burned one 

lighted window; one square spark of red in the huge field of sad 

nocturnal colouring。



At a certain point; as I went downward; turning many acute angles; 

the moon disappeared behind the hill; and I pursued my way in great 

darkness; until another turning shot me without preparation into 

St。 Germain de Calberte。  The place was asleep and silent; and 

buried in opaque night。  Only from a single open door; some 

lamplight escaped upon the road to show me that I was come among 

men's habitations。  The two last gossips of the evening; still 

talking by a garden wall; directed me to the inn。  The landlady was 

getting her chicks to bed; the fire was already out; and had; not 

without grumbling; to be rekindled; half an hour later; and I must 

have gone supperless to roost。







THE LAST DAY







WHEN I awoke (Thursday; 2nd October); and; hearing a great 

flourishing of cocks and chuckling of contented hens; betook me to 

the window of the clean and comfortable room where I had slept the 

night; I looked forth on a sunshiny morning in a deep vale of 

chestnut gardens。  It was still early; and the cockcrows; and the 

slanting lights; and the long shadows encouraged me to be out and 

look round me。



St。 Germain de Calberte is a great parish nine leagues round about。  

At the period of the wars; and immediately before the devastation; 

it was inhabited by two hundred and seventy…five families; of which 

only nine were Catholic; and it took the CURE seventeen September 

days to go from house to house on horseback for a census。  But the 

place itself; although capital of a canton; is scarce larger than a 

hamlet。  It lies terraced across a steep slope in the midst of 

mighty chestnuts。  The Protestant chapel stands below upon a 

shoulder; in the midst of the town is the quaint old Catholic 

church。



It was here that poor Du Chayla; the Christian martyr; kept his 

library and held a court of missionaries; here he had built his 

tomb; thinking to lie among a grateful population whom he had 

redeemed from error; and hither on the morrow of his death they 

brought the body; pierced with two…and…fifty wounds; to be 

interred。  Clad in his priestly robes; he was laid out in state in 

the church。  The CURE; taking his text from Second Samuel; 

twentieth chapter and twelfth verse; 'And Amasa wallowed in his 

blood in the highway;' preached a rousing sermon; and exhorted his 

brethren to die each at his post; like their unhappy and 

illustrious superior。  In the midst of this eloquence there came a 

breeze that Spirit Seguier was near at hand; and behold! all the 

assembly took to their horses' heels; some east; some west; and the 

CURE himself as far as Alais。



Strange was the position of this little Catholic metropolis; a 

thimbleful of Rome; in such a wild and contrary neighbourhood。  On 

the one hand; the legion of Salomon overlooked it from Cassagnas; 

on the other; it was cut off from assistance by the legion of 

Roland at Mialet。  The CURE; Louvrelenil; although he took a panic 

at the arch…priest's funeral; and so hurriedly decamped to Alais; 

stood well by his isolated pulpit; and thence uttered fulminations 

against the crimes of the Protestants。  Salomon besieged the 

village for an hour and a half; but was beaten back。  The 

militiamen; on guard before the CURE'S door; could be heard; in the 

black hours; singing Protestant psalms and holding friendly talk 

with the insurgents。  And in the morning; although not a shot had 

been fired; there would not be a round of powder in their flasks。  

Where was it gone?  All handed over to the Camisards for a 

consideration。  Untrusty guardians for an isolated priest!



That these continual stirs were once busy in St。 Germain de 

Calberte; the imagination with difficulty receives; all is now so 

quiet; the pulse of human life now beats so low and still in this 

hamlet of the mountains。  Boys followed me a great way off; like a 

timid sort of lion…hunters; and people turned round to have a 

second look; or came out of their houses; as I went by。  My passage 

was the first event; you would have fancied; since the Camisards。  

There was nothing rude or forward in this observation; it was but a 

pleased and wondering scrutiny; like that of oxen or the human 

infant; yet it wearied my spirits; and soon drove me from the 

street。



I took refuge on the terraces; which are here greenly carpeted with 

sward; and tried to imitate with a pencil the inimitable attitudes 

of the chestnuts as they bear up their canopy of leaves。  Ever and 

again a little wind went by; and the nuts dropped all around me; 

with a light and dull sound; upon the sward。  The noise was as of a 

thin fall of great hailstones; but there went with it a cheerful 

human sentiment of an approaching harvest and farmers rejoicing in 

their gains。  Looking up; I could see the brown nut peering through 

the husk; which was already gaping; and between the stems the eye 

embraced an amphitheatre of hill; sunlit and green with leaves。



I have not often enjoyed a place more deeply。  I moved in an 

atmosphere of pleasure; and felt light and quiet and content。  But 

perhaps it was not the place alone that so disposed my spirit。  

Perhaps some one was thinking of me in another country; or perhaps 

some thought of my own had come and gone unnoticed; and yet done me 

good。  For some thoughts; which sure would be the most beautiful; 

vanish before we can rightly scan their features; as though a god; 

travelling by our green highways; should but ope the door; give one 

smiling look into the house; and go again for ever。  Was it Apollo; 

or Mercury; or Love with folded wings?  Who shall say?  But we go 

the lighter about our business; and feel peace and pleasure in our 

hearts。



I dined with a pair of Catholics。  They agreed in the condemnation 

of a young man; a Catholic; who had married a Protestant girl and 

gone over to the religion of his wife。  A Protestant born they 

could understand and respect; indeed; they seemed to be of the mind 

of an old Catholic woman; who told me that same day there was no 

difference between the two sects; save that 'wrong was more wrong 

for the Catholic;' who had more light and guidance; but this of a 

man's desertion filled them with contempt。



'It is a bad idea for a man to change;' said one。



It may have been accidental; but you see how this phrase pursued 

me; and for myself; I believe it is the current philosophy in these 

parts。  I have some difficulty in imagining a better。  It's not 

only a great flight of confidence for a man to change his creed and 

go out of his family for heaven's sake; but the odds are … nay; and 

the hope is … that; with all this great transition in the eyes of 

man; he has not changed himself a hairbreadth to the eyes of God。  

Honour to those who do so; for the wrench is sore。  But it argues 

something narrow; whether of strength or weakness; whether of the 

prophet or the fool; in those who can take a sufficient interest in 

such infinitesimal and human operations; or who can quit a 

friendship for a doubtful process of the mind。  And I think I 

should not leave my old creed for another; changing only words for 

other words; but by some brave reading; embrace it in spirit and 

truth; and find wrong as wrong for me as for the best of other 

communions



The phylloxera was in the neighbourhood; and instead of wine we 

drank at dinner a more economical juice of the grape … La 

Parisienne; they call it。  It is made by putting the fruit whole 

into a cask with water; one by one the berries ferment and burst; 

what is drunk during the day is supplied at night in water:  so; 

with ever a
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