original short stories-13-第5章

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the　spectacle　of　the　negress　engaged　in　cooking。　　She　at　once　proceeded
to　assist　her；　with　petticoats　tucked　up；　active　in　spite　of　her　age。

The　meal　was　an　excellent　one；　very　long；　very　enjoyable。　　When　they　were
taking　a　turn　after　dinner；　Antoine　took　his　father　aside。

〃Well；　dad；　what　do　you　say　about　it？〃

The　peasant　took　care　never　to　compromise　himself。

〃I　have　no　opinion　about　it。　　Ask　your　mother。〃

So　Antoine　went　back　to　his　mother；　and；　detaining　her　behind　the　rest；
said：

〃Well；　mother；　what　do　you　think　of　her？〃

〃My　poor　lad；　she　is　really　too　black。　　If　she　were　only　a　little　less
black；　I　would　not　go　against　you；　but　this　is　too　much。　　One　would　think
it　was　Satan！〃

He　did　not　press　her；　knowing　how　obstinate　the　old　woman　had　always
been；　but　he　felt　a　tempest　of　disappointment　sweeping　over　his　heart。
He　was　turning　over　in　his　mind　what　he　ought　to　do；　what　plan　he　could
devise；　surprised；　moreover；　that　she　had　not　conquered　them　already　as
she　had　captivated　himself。　　And　they；　all　four；　walked　along　through　the
wheat　fields；　having　gradually　relapsed　into　silence。　　Whenever　they
passed　a　fence　they　saw　a　countryman　sitting　on　the　stile；　and　a　group　of
brats　climbed　up　to　stare　at　them；　and　every　one　rushed　out　into　the　road
to　see　the　〃black〃　whore　young　Boitelle　had　brought　home　with　him。　　At　a
distance　they　noticed　people　scampering　across　the　fields　just　as　when
the　drum　beats　to　draw　public　attention　to　some　living　phenomenon。　　Pere
and　Mere　Boitelle；　alarmed　at　this　curiosity；　which　was　exhibited
everywhere　through　the　country　at　their　approach；　quickened　their　pace；
walking　side　by　side；　and　leaving　their　son　far　behind。　　His　dark
companion　asked　what　his　parents　thought　of　her。

He　hesitatingly　replied　that　they　had　not　yet　made　up　their　minds。

But　on　the　village　green　people　rushed　out　of　all　the　houses　in　a　flutter
of　excitement；　and；　at　the　sight　of　the　gathering　crowd；　old　Boitelle
took　to　his　heels；　and　regained　his　abode；　while　Antoine；　swelling　with
rage；　his　sweetheart　on　his　arm；　advanced　majestically　under　the　staring
eyes；　which　opened　wide　in　amazement。

He　understood　that　it　was　at　an　end；　and　there　was　no　hope　for　him；　that
he　could　not　marry　his　negress。　　She　also　understood　it；　and　as　they　drew
near　the　farmhouse　they　both　began　to　weep。　　As　soon　as　they　had　got　back
to　the　house；　she　once　more　took　off　her　dress　to　aid　the　mother　in　the
household　duties；　and　followed　her　everywhere；　to　the　dairy；　to　the
stable；　to　the　hen　house；　taking　on　herself　the　hardest　part　of　the　work；
repeating　always：　〃Let　me　do　it；　Madame　Boitelle；〃　so　that；　when　night
came　on；　the　old　woman；　touched　but　inexorable；　said　to　her　son：　〃She　is
a　good　girl；　all　the　same。　　It's　a　pity　she　is　so　black；　but　indeed　she
is　too　black。　　I　could　not　get　used　to　it。　　She　must　go　back　again。　　She
is　too；　too　black！〃

And　young　Boitelle　said　to　his　sweetheart：

〃She　will　not　consent。　　She　thinks　you　are　too　black。　　You　must　go　back
again。　　I　will　go　with　you　to　the　train。　　No　matterdon't　fret。　　I　am
going　to　talk　to　them　after　you　have　started。〃

He　then　took　her　to　the　railway　station；　still　cheering　her　with　hope；
and；　when　he　had　kissed　her；　he　put　her　into　the　train；　which　he　watched
as　it　passed　out　of　sight；　his　eyes　swollen　with　tears。

In　vain　did　he　appeal　to　the　old　people。　　They　would　never　give　their
consent。

And　when　he　had　told　this　story；　which　was　known　all　over　the　country；
Antoine　Boitelle　would　always　add：

〃From　that　time　forward　I　have　had　no　heart　for　anythingfor　anything　at
all。　　No　trade　suited　me　any　longer；　and　so　I　became　what　I　ama　night
scavenger。〃

People　would　say　to　him：

〃Yet　you　got　married。〃

〃Yes；　and　I　can't　say　that　my　wife　didn't　please　me；　seeing　that　I　have
fourteen　children；　but　she　is　not　the　other　one；　oh；　nocertainly　not！
The　other　one；　mark　you；　my　negress；　she　had　only　to　give　me　one　glance；
and　I　felt　as　if　I　were　in　Heaven。〃






A　WIDOW

This　story　was　told　during　the　hunting　season　at　the　Chateau　Baneville。
The　autumn　had　been　rainy　and　sad。　　The　red　leaves；　instead　of　rustling
under　the　feet；　were　rotting　under　the　heavy　downfalls。

The　forest　was　as　damp　as　it　could　be。　　From　it　came　an　odor　of　must；　of
rain；　of　soaked　grass　and　wet　earth；　and　the　sportsmen；　their　backs
hunched　under　the　downpour；　mournful　dogs；　with　tails　between　their　legs
and　hairs　sticking　to　their　sides；　and　the　young　women；　with　their
clothes　drenched；　returned　every　evening；　tired　in　body　and　in　mind。

After　dinner；　in　the　large　drawing…room；　everybody　played　lotto；　without
enjoyment；　while　the　wind　whistled　madly　around　the　house。　　Then　they
tried　telling　stories　like　those　they　read　in　books；　but　no　one　was　able
to　invent　anything　amusing。　　The　hunters　told　tales　of　wonderful　shots
and　of　the　butchery　of　rabbits；　and　the　women　racked　their　brains　for
ideas　without　revealing　the　imagination　of　Scheherezade。　　They　were　about
to　give　up　this　diversion　when　a　young　woman；　who　was　idly　caressing　the
hand　of　an　old　maiden　aunt；　noticed　a　little　ring　made　of　blond　hair；
which　she　had　often　seen；　without　paying　any　attention　to　it。

She　fingered　it　gently　and　asked；　〃Auntie；　what　is　this　ring？　　It　looks
as　if　it　were　made　from　the　hair　of　a　child。〃

The　old　lady　blushed；　grew　pale；　then　answered　in　a　trembling　voice：　〃It
is　sad；　so　sad　that　I　never　wish　to　speak　of　it。　　All　the　unhappiness　of
my　life　comes　from　that。　　I　was　very　young　then；　and　the　memory　has
remained　so　painful　that　I　weep　every　time　I　think　of　it。〃

Immediately　everybody　wished　to　know　the　story；　but　the　old　lady　refused
to　tell　it。　　Finally；　after　they　had　coaxed　her　for　a　long　time；　she
yielded。　　Here　is　the　story：

〃You　have　often　heard　me　speak　of　the　Santeze　family；　now　extinct。　　I
knew　the　last　three　male　members　of　this　family。　　They　all　died　in　the
same　manner；　this　hair　belongs　to　the　last　one。　　He　was　thirteen　when　he
killed　himself　for　me。　　That　seems　strange　to　you；　doesn't　it？

〃Oh！　it　was　a　strange　familymad；　if　you　will；　but　a　charming　madness；
the　madness　of　love。　　From　father　to　son；　all　had　violent　passions　which
filled　their　whole　being；　which　impelled　them　to　do　wild　things；　drove
them　to　frantic　enthusiasm；　even　to　crime。　　This　was　born　in　them；　just
as　burning　devotion　is　in　certain　souls。　　Trappers　have　not　the　same
nature　as　minions　of　the　drawing…room。　　There　was　a　saying：　'As
passionate　as　a　Santeze。'　　This　could　be　noticed　by　looking　at　them。
They　all　had　wavy　hair；　falling　over　their　brows；　curly　beards　and　large
eyes　whose　glance　pierced　and　moved　one；　though　one　could　not　say　why。

〃The　grandfather　of　the　owner　of　this　hair；　of　whom　it　is　the　last
souvenir；　after　many　adventures；　duels　and　elopements；　at　about　sixty…
five　fell　madly　in　love　with　his　farmer's　daughter。　　I　knew　them　both。
She　was　blond；　pale；　distinguished…looking；　with　a　slow　manner　of
talking；　a　quiet　voice　and　a　look　so　gentle　that　one　might　have　taken　her
for　a　Madonna。　　The　old　nobleman　took　her　to　his　home　and　was　soon　so
captivated　with　her　that　he　could　not　live　without　her　for　a　minute。
His　daughter　and　daughter…in…law；　who　lived　in　the　chateau；　found　this
perfectly　natural；　love　was　such　a　tradition　in　the　family。　　Nothing　in
regard　to　a　passion　surprised　them；　and　if　one　spoke　before　them　of
parted　lovers；　even　of　vengeance　after　treachery；　both　said　in　the　same
sad　tone：　'Oh；　how　he　must　have　suffered　to　come　to　that　point！'　That　was
all。　　They　grew　sad　over　tragedies　of　love；　but　never　indignant；　even
when　they　were　criminal。

〃Now；　one　day　a　young　man　named　Monsieur　de　Gradelle；　who　had　been
invited　for　the　shooting；　eloped　with　the　young　girl。

〃Monsieur　de　Santeze　remained　calm　as　if　nothing　had　happened；　but　one
morning　he　was　found　hanging　in　the　kennels；　among　his　dogs。

〃His　son　died　in　the　same　manner　in　a　hotel　in　Paris　during　a　journey
which　he　made　there　in　1841；　after　being　deceived　by　a　singer　from　the
opera。

〃He　left　a　twelve…year…old　child　and　a　widow；　my　mother's　sister。　　She
came　to　my　father's　house　with　the　boy；　while　we　were　living　at