内河航程 英文版 An Inland Voyage
罗伯特.路易斯.史蒂文森 Robert Louis Stevenson
LA FERE OF CURSED MEMORY
We lingered in Moy a good part of the day, for we were fond ofbeing philosophical, and scorned long journeys and early starts onprinciple. The place, moreover, invited to repose. People inelaborate shooting costumes sallied from the chateau with guns andgame-bags; and this was a pleasure in itself, to remain behindwhile these elegant pleasure-seekers took the first of the morning.In this way, all the world may be an aristocrat, and play the dukeamong marquises, and the reigning monarch among dukes, if he willonly outvie them in tranquillity. An imperturbable demeanour comesfrom perfect patience. Quiet minds cannot be perplexed orfrightened, but go on in fortune or misfortune at their own privatepace, like a clock during a thunderstorm.
We made a very short day of it to La Fere; but the dusk wasfalling, and a small rain had begun before we stowed the boats. LaFere is a fortified town in a plain, and has two belts of rampart.Between the first and the second extends a region of waste land andcultivated patches. Here and there along the wayside were postersforbidding trespass in the name of military engineering. At last,a second gateway admitted us to the town itself. Lighted windowslooked gladsome, whiffs of comfortable cookery came abroad upon theair. The town was full of the military reserve, out for the FrenchAutumn Manoeuvres, and the reservists walked speedily and woretheir formidable great-coats. It was a fine night to be withindoors over dinner, and hear the rain upon the windows.
The Cigarette and I could not sufficiently congratulate each otheron the prospect, for we had been told there was a capital inn at LaFere. Such a dinner as we were going to eat! such beds as we wereto sleep in!--and all the while the rain raining on houseless folkover all the poplared countryside! It made our mouths water. Theinn bore the name of some woodland animal, stag, or hart, or hind,I forget which. But I shall never forget how spacious and howeminently habitable it looked as we drew near. The carriage entrywas lighted up, not by intention, but from the mere superfluity offire and candle in the house. A rattle of many dishes came to ourears; we sighted a great field of table-cloth; the kitchen glowedlike a forge and smelt like a garden of things to eat.
Into this, the inmost shrine and physiological heart of a hostelry,with all its furnaces in action, and all its dressers charged withviands, you are now to suppose us making our triumphal entry, apair of damp rag-and-bone men, each with a limp india-rubber bagupon his arm. I do not believe I have a sound view of thatkitchen; I saw it through a sort of glory: but it seemed to mecrowded with the snowy caps of cookmen, who all turned round fromtheir saucepans and looked at us with surprise. There was no doubtabout the landlady, however: there she was, heading her army, aflushed, angry woman, full of affairs. Her I asked politely--toopolitely, thinks the Cigarette--if we could have beds: shesurveying us coldly from head to foot.
'You will find beds in the suburb,' she remarked. 'We are too busyfor the like of you.'
If we could make an entrance, change our clothes, and order abottle of wine, I felt sure we could put things right; so said I:'If we cannot sleep, we may at least dine,'--and was for depositingmy bag.
What a terrible convulsion of nature was that which followed in thelandlady's face! She made a run at us, and stamped her foot.
'Out with you--out of the door!' she screeched. 'Sortez! sortez!sortez par la porte!'
I do not know how it happened, but next moment we were out in therain and darkness, and I was cursing before the carriage entry likea disappointed mendicant. Where were the boating men of Belgium?where the Judge and his good wines? and where the graces of Origny?Black, black was the night after the firelit kitchen; but what wasthat to the blackness in our heart? This was not the first timethat I have been refused a lodging. Often and often have I plannedwhat I should do if such a misadventure happened to me again. Andnothing is easier to plan. But to put in execution, with the heartboiling at the indignity? Try it; try it only once; and tell mewhat you did.
It is all very fine to talk about tramps and morality. Six hoursof police surveillance (such as I have had), or one brutalrejection from an inn-door, change your views upon the subject likea course of lectures. As long as you keep in the upper regions,with all the world bowing to you as you go, social arrangementshave a very handsome air; but once get under the wheels, and youwish society were at the devil. I will give most respectable men afortnight of such a life, and then I will offer them twopence forwhat remains of their morality.
For my part, when I was turned out of the Stag, or the Hind, orwhatever it was, I would have set the temple of Diana on fire, ifit had been handy. There was no crime complete enough to expressmy disapproval of human institutions. As for the Cigarette, Inever knew a man so altered. 'We have been taken for pedlarsagain,' said he. 'Good God, what it must be to be a pedlar inreality!' He particularised a complaint for every joint in thelandlady's body. Timon was a philanthropist alongside of him. Andthen, when he was at the top of his maledictory bent, he wouldsuddenly break away and begin whimperingly to commiserate the poor.'I hope to God,' he said,--and I trust the prayer was answered,--'that I shall never be uncivil to a pedlar.' Was this theimperturbable Cigarette? This, this was he. O change beyondreport, thought, or belief!
Meantime the heaven wept upon our heads; and the windows grewbrighter as the night increased in darkness. We trudged in and outof La Fere streets; we saw shops, and private houses where peoplewere copiously dining; we saw stables where carters' nags hadplenty of fodder and clean straw; we saw no end of reservists, whowere very sorry for themselves this wet night, I doubt not, andyearned for their country homes; but had they not each man hisplace in La Fere barracks? And we, what had we?
There seemed to be no other inn in the whole town. People gave usdirections, which we followed as best we could, generally with theeffect of bringing us out again upon the scene of our disgrace. Wewere very sad people indeed by the time we had gone all over LaFere; and the Cigarette had already made up his mind to lie under apoplar and sup off a loaf of bread. But right at the other end,the house next the town-gate was full of light and bustle. 'Bazin,aubergiste, loge a pied,' was the sign. 'A la Croix de Malte.'There were we received.
The room was full of noisy reservists drinking and smoking; and wewere very glad indeed when the drums and bugles began to go aboutthe streets, and one and all had to snatch shakoes and be off forthe barracks.
Bazin was a tall man, running to fat: soft-spoken, with adelicate, gentle face. We asked him to share our wine; but heexcused himself, having pledged reservists all day long. This wasa very different type of the workman-innkeeper from the bawlingdisputatious fellow at Origny. He also loved Paris, where he hadworked as a decorative painter in his youth. There were suchopportunities for self-instruction there, he said. And if any onehas read Zola's description of the workman's marriage-partyvisiting the Louvre, they would do well to have heard Bazin by wayof antidote. He had delighted in the museums in his youth. 'Onesees there little miracles of work,' he said; 'that is what makes agood workman; it kindles a spark.' We asked him how he managed inLa Fere. 'I am married,' he said, 'and I have my pretty children.But frankly, it is no life at all. From morning to night I pledgea pack of good enough fellows who know nothing.'
It faired as the night went on, and the moon came out of theclouds. We sat in front of the door, talking softly with Bazin.At the guard-house opposite, the guard was being for ever turnedout, as trains of field artillery kept clanking in out of thenight, or patrols of horsemen trotted by in their cloaks. MadameBazin came out after a while; she was tired with her day's work, Isuppose; and she nestled up to her husband and laid her head uponhis breast. He had his arm about her, and kept gently patting heron the shoulder. I think Bazin was right, and he was reallymarried. Of how few people can the same be said!
Little did the Bazins know how much they served us. We werecharged for candles, for food and drink, and for the beds we sleptin. But there was nothing in the bill for the husband's pleasanttalk; nor for the pretty spectacle of their married life. Andthere was yet another item unchanged. For these people'spoliteness really set us up again in our own esteem. We had athirst for consideration; the sense of insult was still hot in ourspirits; and civil usage seemed to restore us to our position inthe world.
How little we pay our way in life! Although we have our pursescontinually in our hand, the better part of service goes stillunrewarded. But I like to fancy that a grateful spirit gives asgood as it gets. Perhaps the Bazins knew how much I liked them?perhaps they also were healed of some slights by the thanks that Igave them in my manner?