sons of the soil-第48章

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hair；　of　a　bluish　black；　long　and　fine　and　abundant；　crowned　a　brow

moulded　like　that　of　the　Farnese　Juno。　That　magnificent　diadem　of

hair；　those　grand　Armenian　eyes；　that　celestial　brow　eclipsed　the　rest

of　the　face。　The　nose；　though　pure　in　form　as　it　left　the　brow；　and

graceful　in　curve；　ended　in　flattened　and　flaring　nostrils。　Anger

increased　this　effect　at　times；　and　then　the　face　wore　an　absolutely

furious　expression。　All　the　lower　part　of　the　face；　like　the　lower

part　of　the　nose；　seemed　unfinished；　as　if　the　clay　in　the　hands　of

the　divine　sculptor　had　proved　insufficient。　Between　the　lower　lip　and

the　chin　the　space　was　so　short　that　any　one　taking　La　Pechina　by　the

chin　would　have　rubbed　the　lip；　but　the　teeth　prevented　all　notice　of

this　defect。　One　might　almost　believe　those　little　bones　had　souls；　so

brilliant　were　they；　so　polished；　so　transparent；　so　exquisitely

shaped；　disclosed　as　they　were　by　too　wide　a　mouth；　curved　in　lines

that　bore　resemblance　to　the　fantastic　shapes　of　coral。　The　shells　of

the　ears　were　so　transparent　to　the　light　that　in　the　sunshine　they

were　rose…colored。　The　complexion；　though　sun…burned；　showed　a

marvellous　delicacy　in　the　texture　of　the　skin。　If；　as　Buffon

declared；　love　lies　in　touch；　the　softness　of　the　girl's　skin　must

have　had　the　penetrating　and　inciting　influence　of　the　fragrance　of

daturas。　The　chest　and　indeed　the　whole　body　was　alarmingly　thin；　but

the　feet　and　hands；　of　alluring　delicacy；　showed　remarkable　nervous

power；　and　a　vigorous　organism。



This　mixture　of　diabolical　imperfections　and　divine　beauties；

harmonious　in　spite　of　discords；　for　they　blended　in　a　species　of

savage　dignity；　also　this　triumph　of　a　powerful　soul　over　a　feeble

body；　as　written　in　those　eyes；　made　the　child；　when　once　seen；

unforgettable。　Nature　had　wished　to　make　that　frail　young　being　a

woman；　the　circumstances　of　her　conception　moulded　her　with　the　face

and　body　of　a　boy。　A　poet　observing　the　strange　creature　would　have

declared　her　native　clime　to　be　Arabia　the　Blest；　she　belonged　to　the

Afrite　and　Genii　of　Arabian　tales。　Her　face　told　no　lies。　She　had　the

soul　of　that　glance　of　fire；　the　intellect　of　those　lips　made

brilliant　by　the　bewitching　teeth；　the　thought　enshrined　within　that

glorious　brow；　the　passion　of　those　nostrils　ready　at　all　moments　to

snort　flame。　Therefore　love；　such　as　we　imagine　it　on　burning　sands；

in　lonely　deserts；　filled　that　heart　of　twenty　in　the　breast　of　a

child；　doomed；　like　the　snowy　heights　of　Montenegro；　to　wear　no

flowers　of　the　spring。



Observers　ought　now　to　understand　how　it　was　that　La　Pechina；　from

whom　passion　issued　by　every　pore；　awakened　in　perverted　natures　the

feelings　deadened　by　abuse；　just　as　water　fills　the　mouth　at　sight　of

those　twisted；　blotched；　and　speckled　fruits　which　gourmands　know　by

experience；　and　beneath　whose　skin　nature　has　put　the　rarest　flavors

and　perfumes。　Why　did　Nicolas；　that　vulgar　laborer；　pursue　this　being

who　was　worthy　of　a　poet；　while　the　eyes　of　the　country…folk　pitied

her　as　a　sickly　deformity？　Why　did　Rigou；　the　old　man；　feel　the

passion　of　a　young　one　for　this　girl？　Which　of　the　two　men　was　young；

and　which　was　old？　Was　the　young　peasant　as　blase　as　the　old　usurer？

Why　did　these　two　extremes　of　life　meet　in　one　common　and　devilish

caprice？　Does　the　vigor　that　draws　to　its　close　resemble　the　vigor

that　is　only　dawning？　The　moral　perversities　of　men　are　gulfs　guarded

by　sphinxes；　they　begin　and　end　in　questions　to　which　there　is　no

answer。



The　exclamation；　formerly　quoted；　of　the　countess；　〃Piccina！〃　when　she

first　saw　Genevieve　by　the　roadside；　open…mouthed　at　sight　of　the

carriage　and　the　elegantly　dressed　woman　within　it；　will　be

understood。　This　girl；　almost　a　dwarf；　of　Montenegrin　vigor；　loved　the

handsome；　noble　bailiff；　as　children　of　her　age　love；　when　they　do

love；　that　is　to　say；　with　childlike　passion；　with　the　strength　of

youth；　with　the　devotion　which　in　truly　virgin　souls　gives　birth　to

divinest　poesy。　Catherine　had　just　swept　her　coarse　hands　across　the

sensitive　strings　of　that　choice　harp；　strung　to　the　breaking…point。

To　dance　before　Michaud；　to　shine　at　the　Soulanges　ball　and　inscribe

herself　on　the　memory　of　that　adored　master！　What　glorious　thoughts！

To　fling　them　into　that　volcanic　head　was　like　casting　live　coals　upon

straw　dried　in　the　August　sun。



〃No；　Catherine；〃　replied　La　Pechina；　〃I　am　ugly　and　puny；　my　lot　is　to

sit　in　a　corner　and　never　to　be　married；　but　live　alone　in　the　world。〃



〃Men　like　weaklings；〃　said　Catherine。　〃You　see　me；　don't　you？〃　she

added；　showing　her　handsome；　strong　arms。　〃I　please　Godain；　who　is　a

poor　stick；　I　please　that　little　Charles；　the　count's　groom；　but

Lupin's　son　is　afraid　of　me。　I　tell　you　it　is　the　small　kind　of　men

who　love　me；　and　who　say　when　they　see　me　go　by　at　Ville…aux…Fayes　and

at　Soulanges；　'Ha！　what　a　fine　girl！'　Now　YOU；　that's　another　thing；

you'll　please　the　fine　men。〃



〃Ah！　Catherine；　if　it　were　truethat！〃　cried　the　bewitched　child。



〃It　is　true；　it　is　so　true　that　Nicolas；　the　handsomest　man　in　the

canton；　is　mad　about　you；　he　dreams　of　you；　he　is　losing　his　mind；　and

yet　all　the　other　girls　are　in　love　with　him。　He　is　a　fine　lad！　If

you'll　put　on　a　white　dress　and　yellow　ribbons；　and　come　to　Socquard's

for　the　midsummer　ball；　you'll　be　the　handsomest　girl　there；　and　all

the　fine　people　from　Ville…aux…Fayes　will　see　you。　Come；　won't　you？

See　here；　I've　been　cutting　grass　for　the　cows；　and　I　brought　some

boiled　wine　in　my　gourd；　Socquard　gave　it　me　this　morning；〃　she　added

quickly；　seeing　the　half…delirious　expression　in　La　Pechina's　eyes

which　women　understand　so　well。　〃We'll　share　it　together；　and　you'll

fancy　the　men　are　in　love　with　you。〃



During　this　conversation　Nicolas；　choosing　the　grassy　spots　to　step

on；　had　noiselessly　slipped　behind　the　trunk　of　an　old　oak　near　which

his　sister　had　seated　La　Pechina。　Catherine；　who　had　now　and　then　cast

her　eyes　behind　her；　saw　her　brother　as　she　turned　to　get　the　boiled

wine。



〃Here；　take　some；〃　she　said；　offering　it。



〃It　burns　me！〃　cried　Genevieve；　giving　back　the　gourd；　after　taking

two　or　three　swallows　from　it。



〃Silly　child！〃　replied　Catherine；　〃see　here！〃　and　she　emptied　the

rustic　bottle　without　taking　breath。　〃See　how　it　slips　down；　it　goes

like　a　sunbeam　into　the　stomach。〃



〃But　I　ought　to　be　carrying　the　milk　to　Mademoiselle　Gaillard；〃　cried

Genevieve；　〃and　it　is　all　spilt！　Nicolas　frightened　me　so！〃



〃Don't　you　like　Nicolas？〃



〃No；〃　answered　Genevieve。　〃Why　does　he　persecute　me？　He　can　get　plenty

other　girls；　who　are　willing。〃



〃But　if　he　likes　you　better　than　all　the　other　girls　in　the　valley〃



〃So　much　the　worse　for　him。〃



〃I　see　you　don't　know　him；〃　answered　Catherine；　as　she　seized　the　girl

rapidly　by　the　waist　and　flung　her　on　the　grass；　holding　her　down　in

that　position　with　her　strong　arms。　At　this　moment　Nicolas　appeared。

Seeing　her　odious　persecutor；　the　child　screamed　with　all　her　might；

and　drove　him　five　feet　away　with　a　violent　kick　in　the　stomach；　then

she　twisted　herself　like　an　acrobat；　with　a　dexterity　for　which

Catherine　was　not　prepared；　and　rose　to　run　away。　Catherine；　still　on

the　ground；　caught　her　by　one　foot　and　threw　her　headlong　on　her　face。

This　frightful　fall　stopped　the　brave　child's　cries　for　a　moment。

Nicolas　attempted；　furiously；　to　seize　his　victim；　but　she；　though

giddy　from　the　wine　and　the　fall；　caught　him　by　the　throat　in　a　grip

of　iron。



〃Help！　she's　strangling　me；　Catherine；〃　cried　Nicolas；　in　a　stifled

voice。



La　Pechina　uttered　piercing　screams；　which　Catherine　tried　to　choke　by

putting　her　hands　over　the　girl's　mouth；　but　she　bit　them　and　drew

blood。　It　was　at　this　moment　that　Blondet；　the　countess；　and　the　abbe

appeared　at　the　edge　of　the　wood。



〃Here　are　those　Aigues　people！〃　exclaimed　Catherine；　helping　Genevieve

to　rise