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Travels with a Donkey in the Cevennes-Part11_ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON(1850-1894)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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damned,' said he, 'why should you also damn yourselves?'

Here was a good reason for the last; but in the course of his



inspectorship he had given many stronger which all told in a

contrary direction; and these he was now to hear. One by one,



Seguier first, the Camisards drew near and stabbed him. 'This,'

they said, 'is for my father broken on the wheel. This for my



brother in the galleys. That for my mother or my sister imprisoned

in your cursed convents.' Each gave his blow and his reason; and



then all kneeled and sang psalms around the body till the dawn.

With the dawn, still singing, they defiled away towards Frugeres,



farther up the Tarn, to pursue the work of vengeance, leaving Du

Chayla's prison-house in ruins, and his body pierced with two-and-



fifty wounds upon the public place.

'Tis a wild night's work, with its accompaniment of psalms; and it



seems as if a psalm must always have a sound of threatening in that

town upon the Tarn. But the story does not end, even so far as



concerns Pont de Montvert, with the departure of the Camisards.

The career of Seguier was brief and bloody. Two more priests and a



whole family at Ladeveze, from the father to the servants, fell by

his hand or by his orders; and yet he was but a day or two at



large, and restrained all the time by the presence of the soldiery.

Taken at length by a famous soldier of fortune, Captain Poul, he



appeared unmoved before his judges.

'Your name?' they asked.



'Pierre Seguier.'

'Why are you called Spirit?'



'Because the Spirit of the Lord is with me.'

'Your domicile?'



'Lately in the desert, and soon in heaven.'

'Have you no remorse for your crimes?'



'I have committed none. MY SOUL IS LIKE A GARDEN FULL OF SHELTER

AND OF FOUNTAINS.'



At Pont de Montvert, on the 12th of August, he had his right hand

stricken from his body, and was burned alive. And his soul was



like a garden? So perhaps was the soul of Du Chayla, the Christian

martyr. And perhaps if you could read in my soul, or I could read



in yours, our own composure might seem little less surprising.

Du Chayla's house still stands, with a new roof, beside one of the



bridges of the town; and if you are curious you may see the

terrace-garden into which he dropped.



IN THE VALLEY OF THE TARN

A NEW road leads from Pont de Montvert to Florac by the valley of



the Tarn; a smooth sandy ledge, it runs about half-way between the

summit of the cliffs and the river in the bottom of the valley; and



I went in and out, as I followed it, from bays of shadow into

promontories of afternoon sun. This was a pass like that of



Killiecrankie; a deep turning gully in the hills, with the Tarn

making a wonderful hoarseuproar far below, and craggy summits



standing in the sunshine high above. A thin fringe of ash-trees

ran about the hill-tops, like ivy on a ruin; but on the lower



slopes, and far up every glen, the Spanish chestnut-trees stood

each four-square to heaven under its tented foliage. Some were



planted, each on its own terrace no larger than a bed; some,

trusting in their roots, found strength to grow and prosper and be



straight and large upon the rapid slopes of the valley; others,

where there was a margin to the river, stood marshalled in a line



and mighty like cedars of Lebanon. Yet even where they grew most

thickly they were not to be thought of as a wood, but as a herd of



stalwart individuals; and the dome of each tree stood forth

separate and large, and as it were a little hill, from among the



domes of its companions. They gave forth a faint sweet perfume

which pervaded the air of the afternoon; autumn had put tints of



gold and tarnish in the green; and the sun so shone through and

kindled the broad foliage, that each chestnut was relieved against



another, not in shadow, but in light. A humble sketcher here laid

down his pencil in despair.



I wish I could convey a notion of the growth of these noble trees;

of how they strike out boughs like the oak, and trail sprays of






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