travels with a donkey in the cevennes-第22章
按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页,按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页,按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部!
————未阅读完?加入书签已便下次继续阅读!
I was wakened next morning (Wednesday; October 2nd) by the same dog
… for I knew his bark … making a charge down the bank; and then;
seeing me sit up; retreating again with great alacrity。 The stars
were not yet quite extinguished。 The heaven was of that enchanting
mild grey…blue of the early morn。 A still clear light began to
fall; and the trees on the hillside were outlined sharply against
the sky。 The wind had veered more to the north; and no longer
reached me in the glen; but as I was going on with my preparations;
it drove a white cloud very swiftly over the hill…top; and looking
up; I was surprised to see the cloud dyed with gold。 In these high
regions of the air; the sun was already shining as at noon。 If
only the clouds travelled high enough; we should see the same thing
all night long。 For it is always daylight in the fields of space。
As I began to go up the valley; a draught of wind came down it out
of the seat of the sunrise; although the clouds continued to run
overhead in an almost contrary direction。 A few steps farther; and
I saw a whole hillside gilded with the sun; and still a little
beyond; between two peaks; a centre of dazzling brilliancy appeared
floating in the sky; and I was once more face to face with the big
bonfire that occupies the kernel of our system。
I met but one human being that forenoon; a dark military…looking
wayfarer; who carried a game…bag on a baldric; but he made a remark
that seems worthy of record。 For when I asked him if he were
Protestant or Catholic …
'Oh;' said he; 'I make no shame of my religion。 I am a Catholic。'
He made no shame of it! The phrase is a piece of natural
statistics; for it is the language of one in a minority。 I thought
with a smile of Bavile and his dragoons; and how you may ride
rough…shod over a religion for a century; and leave it only the
more lively for the friction。 Ireland is still Catholic; the
Cevennes still Protestant。 It is not a basketful of law…papers;
nor the hoofs and pistol…butts of a regiment of horse; that can
change one tittle of a ploughman's thoughts。 Outdoor rustic people
have not many ideas; but such as they have are hardy plants; and
thrive flourishingly in persecution。 One who has grown a long
while in the sweat of laborious noons; and under the stars at
night; a frequenter of hills and forests; an old honest countryman;
has; in the end; a sense of communion with the powers of the
universe; and amicable relations towards his God。 Like my mountain
Plymouth Brother; he knows the Lord。 His religion does not repose
upon a choice of logic; it is the poetry of the man's experience;
the philosophy of the history of his life。 God; like a great
power; like a great shining sun; has appeared to this simple fellow
in the course of years; and become the ground and essence of his
least reflections; and you may change creeds and dogmas by
authority; or proclaim a new religion with the sound of trumpets;
if you will; but here is a man who has his own thoughts; and will
stubbornly adhere to them in good and evil。 He is a Catholic; a
Protestant; or a Plymouth Brother; in the same indefeasible sense
that a man is not a woman; or a woman not a man。 For he could not
vary from his faith; unless he could eradicate all memory of the
past; and; in a strict and not a conventional meaning; change his
mind。
THE HEART OF THE COUNTRY
I WAS now drawing near to Cassagnas; a cluster of black roofs upon
the hillside; in this wild valley; among chestnut gardens; and
looked upon in the clear air by many rocky peaks。 The road along
the Mimente is yet new; nor have the mountaineers recovered their
surprise when the first cart arrived at Cassagnas。 But although it
lay thus apart from the current of men's business; this hamlet had
already made a figure in the history of France。 Hard by; in
caverns of the mountain; was one of the five arsenals of the
Camisards; where they laid up clothes and corn and arms against
necessity; forged bayonets and sabres; and made themselves
gunpowder with willow charcoal and saltpetre boiled in kettles。 To
the same caves; amid this multifarious industry; the sick and
wounded were brought up to heal; and there they were visited by the
two surgeons; Chabrier and Tavan; and secretly nursed by women of
the neighbourhood。
Of the five legions into which the Camisards were divided; it was
the oldest and the most obscure that had its magazines by
Cassagnas。 This was the band of Spirit Seguier; men who had joined
their voices with his in the 68th Psalm as they marched down by
night on the archpriest of the Cevennes。 Seguier; promoted to
heaven; was succeeded by Salomon Couderc; whom Cavalier treats in
his memoirs as chaplain…general to the whole army of the Camisards。
He was a prophet; a great reader of the heart; who admitted people
to the sacrament or refused them; by 'intensively viewing every
man' between the eyes; and had the most of the Scriptures off by
rote。 And this was surely happy; since in a surprise in August
1703; he lost his mule; his portfolios; and his Bible。 It is only
strange that they were not surprised more often and more
effectually; for this legion of Cassagnas was truly patriarchal in
its theory of war; and camped without sentries; leaving that duty
to the angels of the God for whom they fought。 This is a token;
not only of their faith; but of the trackless country where they
harboured。 M。 de Caladon; taking a stroll one fine day; walked
without warning into their midst; as he might have walked into 'a
flock of sheep in a plain;' and found some asleep and some awake
and psalm…singing。 A traitor had need of no recommendation to
insinuate himself among their ranks; beyond 'his faculty of singing
psalms'; and even the prophet Salomon 'took him into a particular
friendship。' Thus; among their intricate hills; the rustic troop
subsisted; and history can attribute few exploits to them but
sacraments and ecstasies。
People of this tough and simple stock will not; as I have just been
saying; prove variable in religion; nor will they get nearer to
apostasy than a mere external conformity like that of Naaman in the
house of Rimmon。 When Louis XVI。; in the words of the edict;
'convinced by the uselessness of a century of persecutions; and
rather from necessity than sympathy;' granted at last a royal grace
of toleration; Cassagnas was still Protestant; and to a man; it is
so to this day。 There is; indeed; one family that is not
Protestant; but neither is it Catholic。 It is that of a Catholic
CURE in revolt; who has taken to his bosom a schoolmistress。 And
his conduct; it is worth noting; is disapproved by the Protestant
villagers。
'It is a bad idea for a man;' said one; 'to go back from his
engagements。'
The villagers whom I saw seemed intelligent after a countrified
fashion; and were all plain and dignified in manner。 As a
Protestant myself; I was well looked upon; and my acquaintance with
history gained me further respect。 For we had something not unlike
a religious controversy at table; a gendarme and a merchant with
whom I dined being both strangers to the place; and Catholics。 The
young men of the house stood round and supported me; and the whole
discussion was tolerantly conducted; and surprised a man brought up
among the infinitesimal and contentious differences of Scotland。
The merchant; indeed; grew a little warm; and was far less pleased
than some others with my historical acquirements。 But the gendarme
was mighty easy over it all。
'It's a bad idea for a man to change;' said he; and the remark was
generally applauded。
That was not the opinion of the priest and soldier at Our Lady of
the Snows。 But this is a different race; and perhaps the same
great…hearte