martin guerre-第3章

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〃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　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