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THERE was a change on the village where the fountain fell, and where the mender of roads went forth daily to hammer out of the stones on the highway such morsels of bread as might serve for patches to hold his poor ignorant soul and his poor reduced body together. The prison on the crag was not so dominant as of yore; there were soldiers to guard it, but not many; there were officers to guard the soldiers, but not one of them knew what his men would do--beyond this: that it would probably not be what he was ordered.
Far and wide lay a ruined country, yielding nothing but desolation. Every green leaf, every blade of grass and blade of grain, was as shrivelled and poor as the miserable people. Everything was bowed down, dejected, oppressed, and broken. Habitations, fences, domesticated animals, men, women, children, and the soil that bore them--all worn out.
Monseigneur (often a most worthy individual gentleman) was a national blessing, gave a chivalrous tone to things, was a polite example of luxurious and shining life, and a great deal more to equal purpose; nevertheless, Monseigneur as a class had, somehow or other, brought things to this. Strange that Creation, designed expressly for Monseigneur, should be so soon wrung dry and squeezed out! There must be something short-sighted in the eternal arrangements, surely Thus it was, however; and the last drop of blood having been extracted from the flints, and the last screw of the rack having been turned so often that its purchase crumbled, and it now turned and turned with nothing to bite, Monseigneur began to run away from a phenomenon so low and unaccountable.
But, this was not the change on the village, and on many a village like it. For scores of years gone by, Monseigneur had squeezed it and wrung it, and had seldom graced it with his presence except for the pleasures of the chase--now, found in hunting the people; now, found in hunting the beasts, for whose preservation Monseigneur made edifying spaces of barbarous and barren wilderness. No. The change consisted in the appearance of strange faces of low caste, rather than in the disappearance of the high-caste, chiseled, and otherwise beatified and beatifying features of Monseigneur.
For, in these times, as the mender of roads worked, solitary, in the dust, not often troubling himself to reflect that dust he was and to dust he must return, being for the most part too much occupied in thinking how little he had for supper and how much more he would eat if he had it--in these times, as he raised his eyes from his lonely labour, and viewed the prospect, he would see some rough figure approaching on foot, the like of which was once a rarity in those parts, but was now a frequent presence. As it advanced, the mender of roads would discern without surprise, that it was a shaggy-haired man, of almost barbarian aspect, tall, in wooden shoes that were clumsy even to the eyes of a mender of roads, grim, rough, swart, steeped in the mud and dust of many highways, dank with the marshy moisture of many low grounds, sprinkled with the thorns and leaves and
moss of many byways through woods.
Such a man came upon him, like a ghost, at noon in the July weather, as he sat on his heap of stones under a bank, taking such shelter as he could get from a shower of hail.
The man looked at him, looked at the village in the hollow, at the mill, and at the prison on the crag. When he had identified these objects in what benighted mind he had, he said, in a dialect that was just intelligible:
`How goes it, Jacques?'
`All well, Jacques.'
`Touch then!'
They joined hands, and the man sat down on the heap of stones.
`No dinner?'
`Nothing but supper now,' said the mender of roads, with a hungry face.
`It is the fashion,' growled the man. `I meet no dinner anywhere.'
He took out a blackened pipe, filled it, lighted it with flint and steel, pulled at it until it was in a bright glow: then, suddenly held it from him and dropped something into it from between his finger and thumb, that blazed and went out in a puff of smoke.
`Touch then.' It was the turn of the mender of roads to say it this time, after observing these operations. They again joined hands.
`To-night?' said the mender of roads.
`To-night,' said the man, putting the pipe in his mouth.
`Where?'
`Here.'
He and the mender of roads sat on the heap of stones looking silently at one another, with the hail driving in between them like a pigmy charge of bayonets, until the sky began to clear over the village.
`Show me!' said the traveller then, moving to the brow of the hill.
`See.' returned the mender of roads, with extended finger. `You go down here, and straight through the street, and past the fountain---
`To the Devil with all that!' interrupted the other, rolling his eye over the landscape. `I go through no streets and past no fountains. Well?'
`Well! About two leagues beyond the summit of that hill above the village.'
`Good. When do you cease to work?'
`At sunset.'
`Will you wake me, before departing? I have walked two nights without resting. Let me finish my pipe, and I shall sleep like a child. Will you wake me?'
`Surely.'
The wayfarer smoked his pipe out, put it in his breast, slipped off his great wooden shoes, and lay down on his back on the heap of stones. He was fast asleep directly.
As the road-mender plied his dusty labour, and the hail-clouds, rolling away, revealed bright bars and streaks of sky which were responded to by silver gleams upon the landscape, the little man (who wore a red cap now, in place of his blue one) seemed fascinated by the figure on the heap of stones. His eyes were so often turned towards it, that he used his tools mechanically, and, one would have said, to very poor account. The bronze face, the shaggy black hair and beard, the coarse woollen red cap, the rough medley dress of home-spun stuff and hairy skins of beasts, the powerful frame attenuated by spare living, and the sullen and desperate compression of the lips in sleep, inspired the mender of roads with awe. The traveller had travelled far, and his feet were footsore, and his ankles chafed and bleeding; his great shoes, stuffed with leaves and grass, had been heavy to drag over the many long leagues, and his clothes were chafed into holes, as he himself was into sores. Stooping down beside him, the road-mender tried to get a peep at secret weapons in his breast or where not; but, in vain, for he slept with his arms crossed upon him, and set as resolutely as his lips. Fortified towns with their stockades, guard-houses, gates, trenches, and drawbridges, seemed to the mender of roads, to be so much air as against this figure. And when he lifted his eyes from it to the horizon and looked around, he saw in his small fancy similar figures, stopped by no obstacle, tending to centres all over France.
The man slept on, indifferent to showers of hail and intervals of brightness, to sunshine on his face and shadow, to the pattering lumps of dull ice on his body and the diamonds into which the sun changed them, until the sun was low in the west, and the sky was glowing. Then, the mender of roads having got his tools together and all things ready to go down into the village, roused him.
`Good!' said the sleeper, rising on his elbow. `Two leagues beyond the summit of the hill?'
`About.'
`About. Good!'
The mender of roads went home, with the dust going on before him according to the set of the wind, and was soon at the fountain, squeezing himself in among the lean kine brought there to drink, and appearing even to whisper to them in his whispering to all the village. When the village had taken its poor supper, it did not creep to bed, as it usually did, but came out of doors again, and remained there. A curious contagion of whispering was upon it, and also, when it gathered together at the fountain in the dark, another curious contagion of looking expectantly at the sky in one direction only. Monsieur Gabelle, chief functionary of the place, became uneasy; went out on his house-top alone, and looked in that direction too; glanced down from behind his chimneys at the darkening faces by the fountain below, and sent word to the sacristan who kept the keys of the
church, that there might be need to ring the tocsin by-and-by.
The night deepened. The trees environing the old chateau, keeping its solitary state apart, moved in a rising wind, as though they threatened the pile of building massive and dark in the gloom. Up the two terrace flights of steps the rain ran wildly, and beat at the great door, like a swift messenger rousing those within; uneasy rushes of wind went through the hall, among the old spears and knives, and passed lamenting up the stairs, and shook the curtains of the bed where the last Marquis had slept. East, West, North, and South, through the woods, four heavy-treading, unkempt figures crushed the high grass and cracked the branches, striding on cautiously to come together in the courtyard. Four lights broke out there, and moved away in different directions, and all was black again.
But, not for long. Presently, the chateau began to make itself strangely visible by some light of its own, as though it were growing luminous. Then, a flickering streak played behind the architecture of the front, picking out transparent places, and showing where balustrades, arches, and windows were. Then it soared higher, and grew broader and brighter. Soon, from a score of the great windows, flames burst forth, and the stone faces awakened, stared out of fire.
A faint murmur arose about the house from the few people who were left there, and there was a saddling of a horse and riding away. There was spurring and splashing through the darkness, and bridle was drawn in the space by the village fountain, and the horse in a foam stood at Monsieur Gabelle's door. `Help, Gabelle! Help, every one!' The tocsin rang impatiently, but other help (if that were any) there was none. The mender of roads, and two hundred and fifty particular friends, stood with folded arms at the fountain, looking at the pillar of fire in the sky. `It must be forty feet high,' said they, grimly; and never moved.
The rider from the chateau, and the horse in a foam, clattered away through the village, and galloped up the stony steep, to the prison on the crag. At the gate, a group of officers were looking at the fire; removed from them, a group of soldiers. `Help, gentlemen-officers! The chateau is on fire; valuable objects may be saved from the flames by timely aid! Help, help!' The officers looked towards the soldiers who looked at the fire; gave no orders; and answered, with shrugs and biting of lips, `It must burn.'
As the rider rattled down the hill again and through the street, the village was illuminating. The mender of roads, and the two hundred and fifty particular friends, inspired as one man and woman by the idea of lighting up, had darted into their houses, and were putting candles in every dull little pane of glass. The general scarcity of everything, occasioned candles to be borrowed in a rather peremptory manner of Monsieur Gabelle; and in a moment of reluctance and hesitation on that functionary's part, the mender of roads, once so submissive to authority, had remarked that carriages were good to make bonfires with, and that post-horses would roast.
The chateau was left to itself to flame and burn. In the roaring and raging of the conflagration, a red-hot wind, driving straight from the infernal regions, seemed to be blowing the edifice away. With the rising and falling of the blaze, the stone faces showed
as if they were in torment. When great masses of stone and timber fell, the face with the two dints in the nose became obscured: anon struggled out of the smoke again, as if it were the face of the cruel Marquis, burning at the stake and contending with the fire.
The chateau burned; the nearest trees, laid hold of by the fire, scorched and shrivelled; trees at a distance, fired by the four fierce figures, begirt the blazing edifice with a new forest of smoke. Molten lead and iron boiled in the marble basin of the fountain; the water ran dry; the extinguisher tops of the towers vanished like ice before the heat, and trickled down into four rugged wells of flame. Great rents and splits branched out in the solid walls, like crystallisation; stupefied birds wheeled about and dropped into the furnace; four fierce figures trudged away, East, West, North, and South, along the night-enshrouded
roads, guided by the beacon they had lighted, towards their next destination. The illuminated village had seized hold of the tocsin, and, abolishing the lawful ringer, rang for joy.
Not only that; but the village, light-headed with famine, fire, and bell-ringing, and bethinking itself that Monsieur Gabelle had to do with the collection of rent and taxes--though it was but a small instalment of taxes, and no rent at all, that Gabelle had got in those latter days--became impatient for an interview with him, and, surrounding his house, summoned him to come forth for personal conference. Whereupon, Monsieur Gabelle did heavily bar his door, and retire to hold counsel with himself The result of that conference was, that Gabelle again withdrew himself to his house-top behind his stack of chimneys; this time resolved, if his door was broken in (he was a small Southern man of retaliative temperament), to pitch himself head foremost over the parapet, and crush a man or two below.
Probably, Monsieur Gabelle passed a long night up there, with the distant chateau for fire and candle, and the beating at his door, combined with the joy-ringing, for music; not to mention his having an ill-omened lamp slung across the road before his posting-house gate, which the village showed a lively inclination to displace in his favour. A trying suspense, to be passing a whole summer night on the brink of the black ocean, ready to take that plunge into it upon which Monsieur Gabelle had resolved But, the friendly dawn appearing at last, and the rush-candles of the village guttering out, the people happily dispersed, and Monsieur Gabelle came down bringing his life with him for that while.
Within a hundred miles, and in the light of other fires, there were other functionaries less fortunate, that night and other nights,whom the rising sun found hanging across once-peaceful streets, where they had been born and bred; also, there were other
villagers and townspeople less fortunate than the mender of roads and his fellows, upon whom the functionaries and soldiery turned with success, and whom they strung up in their turn. But, the fierce figures were steadily wending East, West, North, and South, be that as it would; and whosoever hung, fire burned. The altitude of the gallows that would turn to water and quench it, no functionary, by any stretch of mathematics, was able to calculate successfully. 有泉水泻下的那个村子发生了变化。补路工每天仍去那儿大路上敲石头赚几块面包糊口，让他那无知的灵魂不致离开他那消瘦的身体。悬崖顶上的监狱不像以前那么威风凛凛了。还有士兵守卫，但人数少了；还有军官管着士兵，但不知道士兵们会干什么—一只知道他们也许会干出一些并没有命令他们干的事。
残破的农村四面伸展；除了荒凉之外再也生产不出什么。每一片绿叶，每一片青草，每一片庄稼的叶子都跟苦难的人民—样萎缩、可怜。每一件东西都躬着腰，颓废、受压、气息奄奄。住宅、篱笆、家畜、男人、女人、孩子和承担着他们的土地——全都精疲力尽了。
曾是最高贵的君子的爵爷大人们也曾是国家的祥瑞。他们是豪华灿烂的生活的彬彬有礼的典范，他们给一切都带来骑士的风采，在其它类似的问题上也起过巨大的作用。作为一个阶级，爵爷大人们曾以种种形式给旅华的生活增添了光彩。奇怪的是，专为爵爷大人们设计的大千世界竟然会那么快就被绞尽了、榨干了！永恒的安排无疑是患了目光短浅的毛病！可是实际情况就是如此。一无所有的人已被榨干了最后的一滴血，刑具的最后的螺丝已经多次使用，受刑者已经崩溃，现在那螺丝转来转去，再也咬不住什么了。大人们只好离开这样今人丧气而又无法解释的现象，逃得远远的。
但是这座村子和许多类似的村子的变化并不在此。数十上百年来大人原本只对这村子进行挤压绞榨，很少亲自光临，只有狩猎寻乐时例外——他有时猎取的是人，有时猎取的是兽。而为了蕃息野兽，大人为它们的生长留出了大片土地，让它荒废。不，不，村子的变化不在于少了那身分高贵、雕像般漂亮、受福也赐福的面孔，而在于多了些身分低下的陌生面孔。
这个时期，补路工在灰尘里孤独地干活。他很少费脑筋去思考自己是从尘土中来，也必归尘土的道理。他花时间过多考虑的倒是晚饭太少，若是有吃的他可以吃下多少的问题——在这个时期，他从他那孤独的劳动中一抬起头来往前面一望，总会看见一个粗野的人影步行着走上前来。这在这一带以前是罕见的，可现在却已习以为常。那人影走上前来，补路工便会毫不意外地发现，那是一个几乎像野人一样毛挺毵毵的高个儿，脚上的木鞋就连补路工看去也嫌太累赘。那人凶猛、粗犷、黝黑，浸渍了多少大路上的风尘和泥浆，漏染了多少低地沼泽的潮气，身上粘满了森林僻路上的荆棘、树叶和苔藓。
那个七月天的正午就有这样一个人像鬼怪般向他走来。那时，他正坐在一道陡壁下的石堆上想方设法躲避着一场冰雹。
那人看了看他，望了望山谷里的村子、风磨和悬崖顶上的监狱，在他那不明情况的心里认清了这些目标之后便用一种勉强听得懂的方言说：
“情况如何，雅克？”
“良好，雅克。”
“握手吧，那就！”
两人握了手。那人在石堆上坐下。
“没有午饭？”
“现在只有晚饭了，”补路工露出饥饿的样子说。
“现在时兴不吃午饭，”那人咕噜道，“我在哪儿见到的人都不吃午饭。”
他拿出一个黑糊糊的烟斗，装上烟，用火镰点着了，叭叭地抽出红光，突然拿开，用拇指和食指撮了个东西进去，那东西燃起了火苗，随即化作了一缕青烟。
“握手吧，那就，”看完了这个动作，轮到补路工说话了。两人再度握手。
“今晚么？”补路工说。
“今晚，”那人把烟斗送到嘴里，说。
“哪儿？”
“这儿。”
他和补路工都坐在石头上，彼此默默地望着。冰雹在他们之间洒落，仿佛是小人国的刺刀在袭击。村子上空的天终于放晴了。
“指给我看！”于是旅人来到山顶，说。
“看！”补路工回答，伸出了手指。“从这儿下去，对直穿过街道，经过泉水——”
“通通见鬼去！”那人打断了他的话，眼珠对着景物骨碌碌地转。“我不从街上走，也不从泉水过。那该怎么走？”
“那么！村边山顶那一面，大约两个里格。”
“好的。你什么时候下班？”
“太阳下山。”
“你下班之前叫醒我好吗？我已经走了两个晚上没有休息了。我抽完烟，就会像个娃娃一样睡着的。你愿叫醒我吗？”
“没问题。”
旅客抽完了那锅烟，把烟斗揣在怀里，脱掉大木鞋，躺倒在石头堆上，立即睡着了。
补路工干起他那尘雾弥漫的活儿来。这时含着冰雹的云翻滚着散开了，露出了一道道青天，景物也随之闪出一道道银辉。现在用红帽代替了蓝帽的小个子补路工似乎被石堆上的人形迷住了，眼睛常朝他转过去，手上的工具虽机械地干着活，看来已没有多大作用。那人那青铜色的皮肤、乱蓬蓬的须发、粗糙的红色羊毛帽、家织呢和野兽皮混杂凑成的粗劣衣服、因为生活困苦而消瘦的健壮的个儿、睡着时那愠怒而凶狠地抿紧的嘴唇，这些都使补路工肃然起敬。旅客走了许多地方，脚已磨破，足踝上有伤，流着血；他那巨大的木鞋塞满了树叶和草。走了那么遥远的路，这鞋实在太沉重。他的衣服磨出了许多洞，身上也有许多伤。补路工弯下腰想看看他掖在胸口或其它地方的秘密武器，但是没看见，因为他睡觉时双臂合抱在胸前，捂得紧紧的，很像他那根紧的双唇。在补路工眼里，深沟高垒的城市的栅栏、哨所、大门、壕堑、吊桥在这个人面前都如烟云一样容易消散。等到他抬头看看地平线和四周时，他那小小的幻想之中有许多跟此人类似的人影正在所向披靡地扑向法兰西各个中心城市。
这人继续酣睡。冰雹一阵阵洒落，阳光与阴影在他脸上交替，冰珠打在他身上噗噗地响，又被太阳化作粒粒的金刚钻，可他全然不理会。太阳终于落了山，映出了一片晚霞，补路工收拾起工具打算下山回村了，这才叫醒了他。
“好！”睡觉的人用手肘撑起身子说。“山顶那边两个里格么？”
“大约两个。”
“大约两个。好！”
补路工回家去了，灰尘因为风向的缘故在他前面飞卷。他很快来到了泉水边，挤进牵到那儿喝水的瘦牛群里，向满村的人耳语着，似乎连牛也通了消息。村里人吃完了可怜的晚餐并不按平时的习惯爬上床去，而是走出门来呆在那几悄悄传播着一个离奇的消息。等到村里的人在黑暗中到泉水边会集时，又有一种离奇的观望动作传播开来：大家都往同一个方向的天空眺望，似乎等待着什么。当地的主要官员加伯尔先生不放心了，一个人爬上自己的屋顶，也往那个方向看；他又躲在烟囱后偷看屋下泉水边黑暗中的面孔，同时通知了掌管教堂钥匙的圣器保管员，说不定过一会儿需要敲钟。
夜色渐浓，刮起了风，围绕着并孤立了古老的府第使之变得幽深的树林开始在风前摇摆，仿佛在对那黑魃魃的巍峨的建筑发出恫吓。雨点像个急脚信使疯狂地跑上了那两排台阶，敲打着巨大的门，仿佛要唤醒屋里的人。一阵阵不安的风刮进了大厅，刮过了古老的矛和刀，再呜咽着刮上了楼梯，吹拂着最后的侯爵睡过的床边帏幔，四个步履沉重须发零乱的人穿过东西南北的树林，踏倒了长草，碰断了枯枝，小心翼翼地来到了院子里，在那儿点起了四把火，然后四散分开。于是一切又归于黑暗。
但这黑暗并不长久，府邸立即以它自己的光离奇地照亮了自己，仿佛正要变成一个发光体。然后一道火花四射的烈焰在前排建筑物的背后燃烧了起来，从透光处显露，照亮了栏杆、拱门和窗户，接着火焰便越燃越高，四面扩展，越发明亮了。很快，二十来扇大窗户都爆出了火焰，唤醒了石雕人面，一个个从火里往外瞪着眼。
留在庄园里的少数人在一阵嘁嚓低语之后备了马，有人骑着马跑掉了。驱马声、溅水声穿过了黑暗，在村里的泉水边停住了。那马喷着白沫站在加伯尔先生的大门口，“加伯尔先生，救火呀！叫大家来救火呀！”警钟紧急地敲着，却没有别的救援出现（即使有，也没有来）。补路工和他那二百五十个铁哥儿们都在泉水边交叉着双臂，望着天上的火柱。“肯定有四十英尺高，”他们冷淡地说，却一动也不动。
从宅邸来的骑马人和喷着白沫的马穿过村庄嗒嗒嗒冲上石梯来到峭壁上的监牢门前。一群军官在门前看火，一群士兵离他们远远的。“长官，长官，救火呀！庄园烧起来了，早点去还可以抢救出些值钱的东西！救火呀！救火呀！”军官望望士兵，士兵却望着火。没有谁下命令，大家耸了耸肩，抿了抿嘴，“只好烧了！”
骑马的人嗒嗒嗒跑下山穿过街道时，村子照了个通亮。补路工和二百五十个铁哥儿们产生了一男一女常有的灵感：燃起蜡烛来庆贺。他们便都进了屋子，在每一扇昏暗的小玻璃窗后面点起了蜡烛。这儿物品普遍匮乏，大家便颇不客气地去向加伯尔先生借。那位宫员很不情愿，稍一犹豫，过去在权威面前十分恭顺的补路工这时却说：“砸了马车烧篝火倒也好玩，驿马也能烧烤了吃呢！”
那府第便径自腾起大火燃烧下去。烈火呼啸着发起狂来，炙热的风从地狱般的火海里刮出来，似乎要把这座华厦刮个灰飞烟灭。白炽的火苗跳跃飞腾，照出石雕人面似乎在忍受着折磨。大块大块的石材木料崩塌。鼻于上有小窝的石雕人面被埋掉了，可随后又从烟火里露了出来，俨然成了那残酷的侯爵的脸——他正在火刑柱上挨烧，在烈火中辗转挣扎。
府第燃烧着；附近的树木一让火舌舔到便干焦萎缩；远处的森林被那四个凶恶的人点燃之后又用一道新的烟雾的森林把那烧得白炽的华厦包围起来。熔化的铅和铁在喷泉的大理石盆里沸腾，烧干了泉水；灭烛器似的塔楼尖顶在高温前像冰一样熔化，滴落下来变作了四个奇形怪状的火池；坚实的墙壁以结晶的纹样作树枝形迸裂，迸出了巨大的豁口和裂缝。鸟儿们吓昏了，在空中打着旋儿栽进大熔炉里。四个凶猛的形象在他们造成的灯塔光里大步地沿着为黑暗所包裹的道路向东西南北四面走去，走向新的目标。火光照耀的村子已夺走了警钟，赶走了法定敲钟人，自己欢乐地敲了起来。
这还不够，被饥馑、大火和钟声冲昏了头脑的村子想起了加伯尔先生还要收租税，便急于要跟他谈判，尽管加伯尔先生近来只收了一点分期交纳的赋税，而地租房租则分文未收。他们包围了他的房子，传唤他出来当而交谈。加伯尔先生只好把大门死死关闭，躲起来考虑办法。考虑的结果是重新躲到那排烟囱背后的屋顶上去。这回他下定了决心，若是门被闯开，他便从雉堞顶上栽下去抓住一两个人同归于尽（他是个南方人，个子虽小，复仇心却很重）。
加伯尔先生在屋顶度过了一个漫长的黑夜。他很可能是把远处的府第当作了蜡烛，把打门声和快活的钟声当作了音乐的。至于摇晃在他那驿站门前街道边的不祥的路灯就更不用提了，村里人曾大呼小叫要拿他去跟路灯交换地位呢。他在黑漆漆的死亡的边缘整整度过了一个夏夜，随时准备照既定的决心栽下去！那提心吊胆的滋味是很考验入的。可是友善的黎明终于到来，村型的灯心草蜡烛也噼噼啪啪地熄灭了，人们快活地分散开去。加伯尔先生暂时抢得一条性命，下到了地面。
那天晚上和另外一些晚上，一百英里之内还烧起过许多处大火。那里的官员有些却未必那么幸运。太阳出山时，他们已被吊在曾经很平静的街道上——他们原是在那儿出生和成长的。也有的农村或城市的居民不如补路工和他的伙伴们那么幸运。官员和士兵们进行了反扑，也把他们吊了起来。但是凶狠的人们仍然不顾一切，坚定地在东西南北四处活动。无论绞死了谁，火照样放。官员们无论用什么数学公式计算，也算不出绞架要造多高才能变成水，把那场大火扑灭。 |
