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The Merry Men-Part25_ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON(1850-1894)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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assiduous in his visits; indeed, even when I began to get about



again, he plainly feared and deprecated my society, not as in

distaste but much as a man might be disposed to flee from the



riddling sphynx. The villagers, too, avoided me; they were

unwilling to be my guides upon the mountain. I thought they looked



at me askance, and I made sure that the more superstitious crossed

themselves on my approach. At first I set this down to my



heretical opinions; but it began at length to dawn upon me that if

I was thus redoubted it was because I had stayed at the residencia.



All men despise the savage notions of such peasantry; and yet I was

conscious of a chill shadow that seemed to fall and dwell upon my



love. It did not conquer, but I may not deify that it restrained

my ardour.



Some miles westward of the village there was a gap in the sierra,

from which the eye plunged direct upon the residencia; and thither



it became my daily habit to repair. A wood crowned the summit; and

just where the pathway issued from its fringes, it was overhung by



a considerable shelf of rock, and that, in its turn, was surmounted

by a crucifix of the size of life and more than usually painful in



design. This was my perch; thence, day after day, I looked down

upon the plateau, and the great old house, and could see Felipe, no



bigger than a fly, going to and fro about the garden. Sometimes

mists would draw across the view, and be broken up again by



mountain winds; sometimes the plain slumbered below me in unbroken

sunshine; it would sometimes be all blotted out by rain. This



distant post, these interrupted sights of the place where my life

had been so strangely changed, suited the indecision of my humour.



I passed whole days there, debating with myself the various

elements of our position; now leaning to the suggestions of love,



now giving an ear to prudence, and in the end halting irresolute

between the two.



One day, as I was sitting on my rock, there came by that way a

somewhat gaunt peasant wrapped in a mantle. He was a stranger, and



plainly did not know me even by repute; for, instead of keeping the

other side, he drew near and sat down beside me, and we had soon



fallen in talk. Among other things he told me he had been a

muleteer, and in former years had much frequented these mountains;



later on, he had followed the army with his mules, had realised a

competence, and was now living retired with his family.



'Do you know that house?' I inquired, at last, pointing to the

residencia, for I readily wearied of any talk that kept me from the



thought of Olalla.

He looked at me darkly and crossed himself.



'Too well,' he said, 'it was there that one of my comrades sold

himself to Satan; the Virgin shield us from temptations! He has



paid the price; he is now burning in the reddest place in Hell!'

A fear came upon me; I could answer nothing; and presently the man



resumed, as if to himself: 'Yes,' he said, 'O yes, I know it. I

have passed its doors. There was snow upon the pass, the wind was



driving it; sure enough there was death that night upon the

mountains, but there was worse beside the hearth. I took him by



the arm, Senor, and dragged him to the gate; I conjured him, by all

he loved and respected, to go forth with me; I went on my knees



before him in the snow; and I could see he was moved by my

entreaty. And just then she came out on the gallery, and called



him by his name; and he turned, and there was she standing with a

lamp in her hand and smiling on him to come back. I cried out



aloud to God, and threw my arms about him, but he put me by, and

left me alone. He had made his choice; God help us. I would pray



for him, but to what end? there are sins that not even the Pope can

loose.'



'And your friend,' I asked, 'what became of him?'

'Nay, God knows,' said the muleteer. 'If all be true that we hear,



his end was like his sin, a thing to raise the hair.'

'Do you mean that he was killed?' I asked.



'Sure enough, he was killed,' returned the man. 'But how? Ay,

how? But these are things that it is sin to speak of.'



'The people of that house . . . ' I began.

But he interrupted me with a savageoutburst. 'The people?' he



cried. 'What people? There are neither men nor women in that

house of Satan's! What? have you lived here so long, and never



heard?' And here he put his mouth to my ear and whispered, as if

even the fowls of the mountain might have over-heard and been






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