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An Inland Voyage-Part4_ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON(1850-1894)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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flavour of great voyages. The owner of the granary came to our

assistance, singled out one little fellow and threatened him with



corporalities; or I suspect we should have had to find the way for

ourselves. As it was, he was more frightened at the granary man



than the strangers, having perhaps had some experience of the

former. But I fancy his little heart must have been going at a



fine rate; for he kept trotting at a respectful distance in front,

and looking back at us with scared eyes. Not otherwise may the



children of the young world have guided Jove or one of his Olympian

compeers on an adventure.



A miry lane led us up from Quartes with its church and bickering

windmill. The hinds were trudging homewards from the fields. A



brisk little woman passed us by. She was seated across a donkey

between a pair of glittering milk-cans; and, as she went, she



kicked jauntily with her heels upon the donkey's side, and

scattered shrill remarks among the wayfarers. It was notable that



none of the tired men took the trouble to reply. Our conductor

soon led us out of the lane and across country. The sun had gone



down, but the west in front of us was one lake of level gold. The

path wandered a while in the open, and then passed under a trellis



like a bower indefinitely prolonged. On either hand were shadowy

orchards; cottages lay low among the leaves, and sent their smoke



to heaven; every here and there, in an opening, appeared the great

gold face of the west.



I never saw the CIGARETTE in such an idyllic frame of mind. He

waxed positively lyrical in praise of country scenes. I was little



less exhilarated myself; the mild air of the evening, the shadows,

the rich lights and the silence, made a symphonious accompaniment



about our walk; and we both determined to avoid towns for the

future and sleep in hamlets.



At last the path went between two houses, and turned the party out

into a wide muddy high-road, bordered, as far as the eye could



reach on either hand, by an unsightly village. The houses stood

well back, leaving a ribbon of waste land on either side of the



road, where there were stacks of firewood, carts, barrows, rubbish-

heaps, and a little doubtful grass. Away on the left, a gaunt



tower stood in the middle of the street. What it had been in past

ages, I know not: probably a hold in time of war; but now-a-days



it bore an illegible dial-plate in its upper parts, and near the

bottom an iron letter-box.



The inn to which we had been recommended at Quartes was full, or

else the landlady did not like our looks. I ought to say, that



with our long, damp india-rubber bags, we presented rather a

doubtful type of civilisation: like rag-and-bone men, the



CIGARETTE imagined. 'These gentlemen are pedlars? - CES MESSIEURS

SONT DES MARCHANDS?' - asked the landlady. And then, without



waiting for an answer, which I suppose she thought superfluous in

so plain a case, recommended us to a butcher who lived hard by the



tower, and took in travellers to lodge.

Thither went we. But the butcher was flitting, and all his beds



were taken down. Or else he didn't like our look. As a parting

shot, we had 'These gentlemen are pedlars?'



It began to grow dark in earnest. We could no longer distinguish

the faces of the people who passed us by with an inarticulate good-



evening. And the householders of Pont seemed very economical with

their oil; for we saw not a single window lighted in all that long



village. I believe it is the longest village in the world; but I

daresay in our predicament every pace counted three times over. We



were much cast down when we came to the last auberge; and looking

in at the dark door, asked timidly if we could sleep there for the



night. A female voice assented in no very friendly tones. We

clapped the bags down and found our way to chairs.



The place was in total darkness, save a red glow in the chinks and

ventilators of the stove. But now the landlady lit a lamp to see



her new guests; I suppose the darkness was what saved us another

expulsion; for I cannot say she looked gratified at our appearance.



We were in a large bare apartment, adorned with two allegorical

prints of Music and Painting, and a copy of the law against public



drunkenness. On one side, there was a bit of a bar, with some

half-a-dozen bottles. Two labourers sat waiting supper, in



attitudes of extremeweariness; a plain-looking lass bustled about

with a sleepy child of two; and the landlady began to derange the



pots upon the stove, and set some beefsteak to grill.

'These gentlemen are pedlars?' she asked sharply. And that was all



the conversation forthcoming. We began to think we might be




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