travels with a donkey in the cevennes-第15部分

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sound　except　that　of　the　stream。　　I　was；　however；　in　a　different　

country　from　the　day　before。　　The　stony　skeleton　of　the　world　was　

here　vigorously　displayed　to　sun　and　air。　　The　slopes　were　steep　

and　changeful。　　Oak…trees　clung　along　the　hills；　well　grown；　

wealthy　in　leaf；　and　touched　by　the　autumn　with　strong　and　luminous　

colours。　　Here　and　there　another　stream　would　fall　in　from　the　

right　or　the　left；　down　a　gorge　of　snow…white　and　tumultuary　

boulders。　　The　river　in　the　bottom　（for　it　was　rapidly　growing　a　

river；　collecting　on　all　hands　as　it　trotted　on　its　way）　here　

foamed　a　while　in　desperate　rapids；　and　there　lay　in　pools　of　the　

most　enchanting　sea…green　shot　with　watery　browns。　　As　far　as　I　

have　gone；　I　have　never　seen　a　river　of　so　changeful　and　delicate　a　

hue；　crystal　was　not　more　clear；　the　meadows　were　not　by　half　so　

green；　and　at　every　pool　I　saw　I　felt　a　thrill　of　longing　to　be　out　

of　these　hot；　dusty；　and　material　garments；　and　bathe　my　naked　body　

in　the　mountain　air　and　water。　　All　the　time　as　I　went　on　I　never　

forgot　it　was　the　Sabbath；　the　stillness　was　a　perpetual　reminder；　

and　I　heard　in　spirit　the　church…bells　clamouring　all　over　Europe；　

and　the　psalms　of　a　thousand　churches。



At　length　a　human　sound　struck　upon　my　ear　…　a　cry　strangely　

modulated　between　pathos　and　derision；　and　looking　across　the　

valley；　I　saw　a　little　urchin　sitting　in　a　meadow；　with　his　hands　

about　his　knees；　and　dwarfed　to　almost　comical　smallness　by　the　

distance。　　But　the　rogue　had　picked　me　out　as　I　went　down　the　road；　

from　oak　wood　on　to　oak　wood；　driving　Modestine；　and　he　made　me　the　

compliments　of　the　new　country　in　this　tremulous　high…pitched　

salutation。　　And　as　all　noises　are　lovely　and　natural　at　a　

sufficient　distance；　this　also；　coming　through　so　much　clean　hill　

air　and　crossing　all　the　green　valley；　sounded　pleasant　to　my　ear；　

and　seemed　a　thing　rustic；　like　the　oaks　or　the　river。



A　little　after；　the　stream　that　I　was　following　fell　into　the　Tarn　

at　Pont　de　Montvert　of　bloody　memory。







PONT　DE　MONTVERT







ONE　of　the　first　things　I　encountered　in　Pont　de　Montvert　was；　if　I　

remember　rightly；　the　Protestant　temple；　but　this　was　but　the　type　

of　other　novelties。　　A　subtle　atmosphere　distinguishes　a　town　in　

England　from　a　town　in　France；　or　even　in　Scotland。　　At　Carlisle　

you　can　see　you　are　in　the　one　country；　at　Dumfries；　thirty　miles　

away；　you　are　as　sure　that　you　are　in　the　other。　　I　should　find　it　

difficult　to　tell　in　what　particulars　Pont　de　Montvert　differed　

from　Monastier　or　Langogne；　or　even　Bleymard；　but　the　difference　

existed；　and　spoke　eloquently　to　the　eyes。　　The　place；　with　its　

houses；　its　lanes；　its　glaring　river…bed；　wore　an　indescribable　air　

of　the　South。



All　was　Sunday　bustle　in　the　streets　and　in　the　public…house；　as　

all　had　been　Sabbath　peace　among　the　mountains。　　There　must　have　

been　near　a　score　of　us　at　dinner　by　eleven　before　noon；　and　after　

I　had　eaten　and　drunken；　and　sat　writing　up　my　journal；　I　suppose　

as　many　more　came　dropping　in　one　after　another；　or　by　twos　and　

threes。　　In　crossing　the　Lozere　I　had　not　only　come　among　new　

natural　features；　but　moved　into　the　territory　of　a　different　race。　　

These　people；　as　they　hurriedly　despatched　their　viands　in　an　

intricate　sword…play　of　knives；　questioned　and　answered　me　with　a　

degree　of　intelligence　which　excelled　all　that　I　had　met；　except　

among　the　railway　folk　at　Chasserades。　　They　had　open　telling　

faces；　and　were　lively　both　in　speech　and　manner。　　They　not　only　

entered　thoroughly　into　the　spirit　of　my　little　trip；　but　more　than　

one　declared；　if　he　were　rich　enough；　he　would　like　to　set　forth　on　

such　another。



Even　physically　there　was　a　pleasant　change。　　I　had　not　seen　a　

pretty　woman　since　I　left　Monastier；　and　there　but　one。　　Now　of　the　

three　who　sat　down　with　me　to　dinner；　one　was　certainly　not　

beautiful　…　a　poor　timid　thing　of　forty；　quite　troubled　at　this　

roaring　TABLE　D'HOTE；　whom　I　squired　and　helped　to　wine；　and　

pledged　and　tried　generally　to　encourage；　with　quite　a　contrary　

effect；　but　the　other　two；　both　married；　were　both　more　handsome　

than　the　average　of　women。　　And　Clarisse？　　What　shall　I　say　of　

Clarisse？　　She　waited　the　table　with　a　heavy　placable　nonchalance；　

like　a　performing　cow；　her　great　grey　eyes　were　steeped　in　amorous　

languor；　her　features；　although　fleshy；　were　of　an　original　and　

accurate　design；　her　mouth　had　a　curl；　her　nostril　spoke　of　dainty　

pride；　her　cheek　fell　into　strange　and　interesting　lines。　　It　was　a　

face　capable　of　strong　emotion；　and；　with　training；　it　offered　the　

promise　of　delicate　sentiment。　　It　seemed　pitiful　to　see　so　good　a　

model　left　to　country　admirers　and　a　country　way　of　thought。　　

Beauty　should　at　least　have　touched　society；　then；　in　a　moment；　it　

throws　off　a　weight　that　lay　upon　it；　it　becomes　conscious　of　

itself；　it　puts　on　an　elegance；　learns　a　gait　and　a　carriage　of　the　

head；　and；　in　a　moment；　PATET　DEA。　　Before　I　left　I　assured　

Clarisse　of　my　hearty　admiration。　　She　took　it　like　milk；　without　

embarrassment　or　wonder；　merely　looking　at　me　steadily　with　her　

great　eyes；　and　I　own　the　result　upon　myself　was　some　confusion。　　

If　Clarisse　could　read　English；　I　should　not　dare　to　add　that　her　

figure　was　unworthy　of　her　face。　　Hers　was　a　case　for　stays；　but　

that　may　perhaps　grow　better　as　she　gets　up　in　years。



Pont　de　Montvert；　or　Greenhill　Bridge；　as　we　might　say　at　home；　is　

a　place　memorable　in　the　story　of　the　Camisards。　　It　was　here　that　

the　war　broke　out；　here　that　those　southern　Covenanters　slew　their　

Archbishop　Sharp。　　The　persecution　on　the　one　hand；　the　febrile　

enthusiasm　on　the　other；　are　almost　equally　difficult　to　understand　

in　these　quiet　modern　days；　and　with　our　easy　modern　beliefs　and　

disbeliefs。　　The　Protestants　were　one　and　all　beside　their　right　

minds　with　zeal　and　sorrow。　　They　were　all　prophets　and　

prophetesses。　　Children　at　the　breast　would　exhort　their　parents　to　

good　works。　　'A　child　of　fifteen　months　at　Quissac　spoke　from　its　

mother's　arms；　agitated　and　sobbing；　distinctly　and　with　a　loud　

voice。'　　Marshal　Villars　has　seen　a　town　where　all　the　women　

'seemed　possessed　by　the　devil；'　and　had　trembling　fits；　and　

uttered　prophecies　publicly　upon　the　streets。　　A　prophetess　of　

Vivarais　was　hanged　at　Moutpellier　because　blood　flowed　from　her　

eyes　and　nose；　and　she　declared　that　she　was　weeping　tears　of　blood　

for　the　misfortunes　of　the　Protestants。　　And　it　was　not　only　women　

and　children。　　Stalwart　dangerous　fellows；　used　to　swing　the　sickle　

or　to　wield　the　forest　axe；　were　likewise　shaken　with　strange　

paroxysms；　and　spoke　oracles　with　sobs　and　streaming　tears。　　A　

persecution　unsurpassed　in　violence　had　lasted　near　a　score　of　

years；　and　this　was　the　result　upon　the　persecuted；　hanging；　

burning；　breaking　on　the　wheel；　had　been　in　vain；　the　dragoons　had　

left　their　hoof…marks　over　all　the　countryside；　there　were　men　

rowing　in　the　galleys；　and　women　pining　in　the　prisons　of　the　

Church；　and　not　a　thought　was　changed　in　the　heart　of　any　upright　

Protestant。



Now　the　head　and　forefront　of　the　persecution　…　after　Lamoignon　de　

Bavile　…　Francois　de　Langlade　du　Chayla　（pronounce　Cheila）；　

Archpriest　of　the　Cevennes　and　Inspector　of　Missions　in　the　same　

country；　had　a　house　in　which　he　sometimes　dwelt　in　the　town　of　

Pont　de　Montvert。　　He　was　a　conscientious　person；　who　seems　to　have　

been　intended　by　nature　for　a　pirate；　and　now　fifty…five；　an　age　by　

which　a　man　has　learned　all　the　moderation　of　which　he　is　capable。　　

A　missionary　in　his　youth　in　China；　he　there　suffered　martyrdom；　

was　left　for　dead；　and　only　succoured　and　brought　back　to　life　by　

the　charity　of　a　pariah。　　We　must　suppose　the　pariah　devoid　of　

second…sight；　and　not　purposely　malicious　in　this　act。　　Such　an　

experience；　it　might　be　thought；　would　have　cured　a　man　of　the　

desire　to　persecute；　but　the　human　spirit　is　a　thing　strangely　put　

together；　and；　having　been　a　Christian　martyr；　Du　Chayla　became　a　

Christian　persecutor。　　The　Work　of　the　Propagation　of　the　Faith　

went　roundly　forward　in　his　hands。　　His　house　in　Pont　de　Montvert　

served　him　as　a　prison。　　There　he　closed　the　hands　of　his　prisoners　

upon　live　coal；　and　plucked　out　the　hairs　of　their　beards；　to　

convince　them　that　they　were　deceived　in　their　opinions。　　And　yet　

had　not　he　himself　tried　and　proved　the　inefficacy　of　these　carnal　

arguments　among　the　Buddhists　in　China？



Not　only　was　life　made　intolerable　in　Languedoc；　but　flight　was　

rigidly　forbidden。　　One　Massip；　a　muleteer；　and　well　acquainted　

with　the　mountain…paths；　had　already　guided　several　troops　of　

fugitives　in　safety　to　Geneva；　and　on　him；　with　another　convoy；　

consisting　mostly　of　women　dressed　as　men；　Du　Chayla；　in　an　evil　

hour　for　himself；　laid　his　hands。　　The　Sunday　followin