martin guerre-第3部分

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

confused　and　indistinct。　　It　was　the　end　of　autumn；　that　melancholy

season　which　suggests　so　many　gloomy　thoughts　and　recalls　so　many

blighted　hopes。　　The　child　had　gone　into　the　house。　　Bertrande；　still

sitting　at　the　door；　resting　her　forehead　on　her　hand；　thought　sadly

of　her　uncle's　words；　recalling　in　imagination　the　past　scenes　which

they　suggested；　the　time　of　their　childhood；　when；　married　so　young；

they　were　as　yet　only　playmates；　prefacing　the　graver　duties　of　life

by　innocent　pleasures；　then　of　the　love　which　grew　with　their

increasing　age；　then　of　how　this　love　became　altered；　changing　on　her

side　into　passion；　on　his　into　indifference。　　She　tried　to　recollect

him　as　he　had　been　on　the　eve　of　his　departure；　young　and　handsome；

carrying　his　head　high；　coming　home　from　a　fatiguing　hunt　and　sitting

by　his　son's　cradle；　and　then　also　she　remembered　bitterly　the

jealous　suspicions　she　had　conceived；　the　anger　with　which　she　had

allowed　them　to　escape　her；　the　consequent　quarrel；　followed　by　the

disappearance　of　her　offended　husband；　and　the　eight　succeeding　years

of　solitude　and　mourning。　　She　wept　over　his　desertion；　over　the

desolation　of　her　life；　seeing　around　her　only　indifferent　or　selfish

people；　and　caring　only　to　live　for　her　child's　sake；　who　gave　her　at

least　a　shadowy　reflection　of　the　husband　she　had　lost。　　〃Lostyes；

lost　for　ever！〃　she　said　to　herself；　sighing；　and　looking　again　at

the　fields　whence　she　had　so　often　seen　him　coming　at　this　same

twilight　hour；　returning　to　his　home　for　the　evening　meal。　　She　cast

a　wandering　eye　on　the　distant　hills；　which　showed　a　black　outline

against　a　yet　fiery　western　sky；　then　let　it　fall　on　a　little　grove

of　olive　trees　planted　on　the　farther　side　of　the　brook　which　skirted

her　dwelling。　　Everything　was　calm；　approaching　night　brought　silence

along　with　darkness：　it　was　exactly　what　she　saw　every　evening；　but

to　leave　which　required　always　an　effort。



She　rose　to　re…enter　the　house；　when　her　attention　was　caught　by　a

movement　amongst　the　trees。　　For　a　moment　she　thought　she　was

mistaken；　but　the　branches　again　rustled；　then　parted　asunder；　and

the　form　of　a　man　appeared　on　the　other　side　of　the　brook。

Terrified；　Bertrande　tried　to　scream；　but　not　a　sound　escaped　her

lips；　her　voice　seemed　paralyzed　by　terror；　as　in　an　evil　dream。　　And

she　almost　thought　it　was　a　dream；　for　notwithstanding　the　dark

shadows　cast　around　this　indistinct　semblance；　she　seemed　to

recognise　features　once　dear　to　her。　　Had　her　bitter　reveries　ended

by　making　her　the　victim　of　a　hallucination？　　She　thought　her　brain

was　giving　way；　and　sank　on　her　knees　to　pray　for　help。　　But　the

figure　remained；　it　stood　motionless；　with　folded　arms；　silently

gazing　at　her！　　Then　she　thought　of　witchcraft；　of　evil　demons；　and

superstitious　as　every　one　was　in　those　days；　she　kissed　a　crucifix

which　hung　from　her　neck；　and　fell　fainting　on　the　ground。　　With　one

spring　the　phantom　crossed　the　brook　and　stood　beside　her。



〃Bertrande！〃　it　said　in　a　voice　of　emotion。　　She　raised　her　head；

uttered　a　piercing　cry；　and　was　clasped　in　her　husband's　arms。



The　whole　village　became　aware　of　this　event　that　same　evening。　　The

neighbours　crowded　round　Bertrande's　door；　Martin's　friends　and

relations　naturally　wishing　to　see　him　after　this　miraculous

reappearance；　while　those　who　had　never　known　him　desired　no　less　to

gratify　their　curiosity；　so　that　the　hero　of　the　little　drama；

instead　of　remaining　quietly　at　home　with　his　wife；　was　obliged　to

exhibit　himself　publicly　in　a　neighbouring　barn。　　His　four　sisters

burst　through　the　crowd　and　fell　on　his　neck　weeping；　his　uncle

examined　him　doubtfully　；at　first；　then　extended　his　arms。　　Everybody

recognised　him；　beginning　with　the　old　servant　Margherite；　who　had

been　with　the　young　couple　ever　since　their　wedding…day。　　People

observed　only　that　a　riper　age　had　strengthened　his　features；　and

given　more　character　to　his　countenance　and　more　development　to　his

powerful　figure；　also　that　he　had　a　scar　over　the　right　eyebrow；　and

that　he　limped　slightly。　　These　were　the　marks　of　wounds　he　had

received；　he　said；　which　now　no　longer　troubled　him。　　He　appeared

anxious　to　return　to　his　wife　and　child；　but　the　crowd　insisted　on

hearing　the　story　of　his　adventures　during　his　voluntary　absence；　and

he　was　obliged　to　satisfy　them。　　Eight　years　ago；　he　said；　the　desire

to　see　more　of　the　world　had　gained　an　irresistible　mastery　over　him；

he　yielded　to　it；　and　departed　secretly。　　A　natural　longing　took　him

to　his　birthplace　in　Biscay；　where　he　had　seen　his　surviving

relatives。　　There　he　met　the　Cardinal　of　Burgos；　who　took　him　into

his　service；　promising　him　profit；　hard　knocks　to　give　and　take；　and

plenty　of　adventure。　　Some　time　after；　he　left　the　cardinal's

household　for　that　of　his　brother；　who；　much　against　his　will；

compelled　him　to　follow　him　to　the　war　and　bear　arms　against　the

French。　　Thus　he　found　himself　on　the　Spanish　side　on　the　day　of　St。

Quentin；　and　received　a　terrible　gun…shot　wound　in　the　leg。　　Being

carried　into　a　house　a　an　adjoining　village；　he　fell　into　the　hands

of　a　surgeon；　who　insisted　that　the　leg　must　be　amputated

immediately；　but　who　left　him　for　a　moment；　and　never　returned。　　Then

he　encountered　a　good　old　woman；　who　dressed　his　wound　and　nursed　him

night　and　day。　　So　that　in　a　few　weeks　he　recovered；　and　was　able　to

set　out　for　Artigues；　too　thankful　to　return　to　his　house　and　land；

still　more　to　his　wife　and　child；　and　fully　resolved　never　to　leave

them　again。



Having　ended　his　story；　he　shook　hands　with　his　still　wondering

neighbours；　addressing　by　name　some　who　had　been　very　young　when　he

left；　and　who；　hearing　their　names；　came　forward　now　as　grown　men；

hardly　recognisable；　but　much　pleased　at　being　remembered。　　He

returned　his　sisters'　carresses；　begged　his　uncle's　forgiveness　for

the　trouble　he　had　given　in　his　boyhood；　recalling　with　mirth　the

various　corrections　received。　　He　mentioned　also　an　Augustinian　monk

who　had　taught　him　to　read；　and　another　reverend　father；　a　Capuchin；

whose　irregular　conduct　had　caused　much　scandal　in　the　neighbourhood。

In　short；　notwithstanding　his　prolonged　absence；　he　seemed　to　have　a

perfect　recollection　of　places；　persons；　and　things。　　The　good　people

overwhelmed　him　with　congratulations；　vying　with　one　another　in

praising　him　for　having　the　good　sense　to　come　home；　and　in

describing　the　grief　and　the　perfect　virtue　of　his　Bertrande。

Emotion　was　excited；　many　wept；　and　several　bottles　from　Martin

Guerre's　cellar　were　emptied。　　At　length　the　assembly　dispersed；

uttering　many　exclamations　about　the　extraordinary　chances　of　Fate；

and　retired　to　their　own　homes；　excited；　astonished；　and　gratified；

with　the　one　exception　of　old　Pierre　Guerre；　who　had　been　struck　by

an　unsatisfactory　remark　made　by　his　nephew；　and　who　dreamed　all

night　about　the　chances　of　pecuniary　loss　augured　by　the　latter's

return。



It　was　midnight　before　the　husband　and　wife　were　alone　and　able　to

give　vent　to　their　feelings。　　Bertrande　still　felt　half　stupefied；

she　could　not　believe　her　own　eyes　and　ears；　nor　realise　that　she　saw

again　in　her　marriage　chamber　her　husband　of　eight　years　ago；　him　for

whom　she　had　wept；　whose　death　she　had　deplored　only　a　few　hours

previously。　　In　the　sudden　shock　caused　by　so　much　joy　succeeding　so

much　grief；　she　had　not　been　able　to　express　what　she　felt；　her

confused　ideas　were　difficult　to　explain；　and　she　seemed　deprived　of

the　powers　of　speech　and　reflection。　　When　she　became　calmer　and　more

capable　of　analysing　her　feelings；　she　was　astonished　not　to　feel

towards　her　husband　the　same　affection　which　had　moved　her　so

strongly　a　few　hours　before。　　It　was　certainly　himself；　those　were

the　same　features；　that　was　the　man　to　whom　she　had　willingly　given

her　hand；　her　heart；　herself；　and　yet　now　that　she　saw　him　again　a

cold　barrier　of　shyness；　of　modesty；　seemed　to　have　risen　between

them。　　His　first　kiss；　even；　had　not　made　her　happy：　she　blushed　and

felt　saddeneda　curious　result　of　the　long　absence！　　She　could　not

define　the　changes　wrought　by　years　in　his　appearance：　his

countenance　seemed　harsher；　yet　the　lines　of　his　face；　his　outer　man；

his　whole　personality；　did　not　seem　altered；　but　his　soul　had　changed

its　nature；　a　different　mind　looked　forth　from　those　eyes。　　Bertrande

knew　him　for　her　husband；　and　yet　she　hesitated。　　Even　so　Penelope；

on　the；　return　of　Ulysses；　required　a　certain　proof　to　confirm　the

evidence　of　her　eyes；　and　her　long　absent　husband　had　to　remind　her

of　secrets　known　only　to　herself。



Martin；　however；　as　if　he　understood　Bertrande's　feeling　and　divined

some　secret　mistrust；　used　the　most　tender　and　affectionate　phrases；

and　even　the　very　pet　names　which　close　intimacy　had　formerly

endeared　to　them。



〃My　queen；〃　he　said；　〃my　beautiful　dove；　can　you　not　lay　aside　your

resentment？　　Is　it　still　so　strong　that　no　submission　can　soften　it？

Cannot　my　repentance　find　grace　in　your　eyes？　　My　Bertrande；　my

Bertha；　my　Bertranilla；　as　I　used　to　call　you。〃



She　tried　to　smile；　but　stopped　short；　puzzled；　the　names　were　the

very　same；　but　the　inflexion　of　voice　quite　different。



Martin　took　her　hands　in　his。　　〃What　pretty　hands！　　Do　you　still　wear

my　ring？　　Yes；　here　it　is；　and　with　it　the　sapphire　ring　I　gave　you

the　day　Sanxi　was　born。〃



Bertrande　did　not　answer；　but　she　took　the　child　and　placed　him　in

his　father's　arms。



Martin　showered　caresses　on　his　son；　and　spoke　of　the　time　when　he

carried　him　as　a　baby　in　the　garden；　lifting　him　up　to　the　fruit

trees；　so　that　he　could　reach　and　try　to　bite　the　fruit。　　He

recollected　one　day　when　the　poor　child　got　his　leg　terribly　torn　by

thorns；　and　convinced　himself；　not　without　emotion；　that　the　scar

could　still　be　seen。