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The Country Doctor-Part3_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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town upon the hillside, he came in sight of the mill and the valley,

and of one of the loveliest landscapes that he had ever seen.



The mountains bar the course of the river, which forms a little lake

at their feet, and raise their crests above it, tier on tier. Their



many valleys are revealed by the changing hues of the light, or by the

more or less clear outlines of the mountain ridges fledged with their



dark forests of pines. The mill had not long been built. It stood just

where the mountain stream fell into the little lake. There was all the



charm about it peculiar to a lonely house surrounded by water and

hidden away behind the heads of a few trees that love to grow by the



water-side. On the farther bank of the river, at the foot of a

mountain, with a faint red glow of sunset upon its highest crest,



Genestas caught a glimpse of a dozen deserted cottages. All the

windows and doors had been taken away, and sufficiently large holes



were conspicuous in the dilapidated roofs, but the surrounding land

was laid out in fields that were highly cultivated, and the old garden



spaces had been turned into meadows, watered by a system of irrigation

as artfully contrived as that in use in Limousin. Unconsciously the



commandant paused to look at the ruins of the village before him.

How is it that men can never behold any ruins, even of the humblest



kind, without feeling deeply stirred? Doubtless it is because they

seem to be a typicalrepresentation of evil fortune whose weight is



felt so differently by different natures. The thought of death is

called up by a churchyard, but a deserted village puts us in mind of



the sorrows of life; death is but one misfortune always foreseen, but

the sorrows of life are infinite. Does not the thought of the infinite



underlie all great melancholy?

The officer reached the stony path by the mill-pond before he could



hit upon an explanation of this deserted village. The miller's lad was

sitting on some sacks of corn near the door of the house. Genestas



asked for M. Benassis.

"M. Benassis went over there," said the miller, pointing out one of



the ruined cottages.

"Has the village been burned down?" asked the commandant.



"No, sir."

"Then how did it come to be in this state?" inquired Genestas.



"Ah! how?" the miller answered, as he shrugged his shoulders and went

indoors; "M. Benassis will tell you that."



The officer went over a rough sort of bridge built up of boulders

taken from the torrent bed, and soon reached the house that had been



pointed out to him. The thatched roof of the dwelling was still

entire; it was covered with moss indeed, but there were no holes in



it, and the door and its fastenings seemed to be in good repair.

Genestas saw a fire on the hearth as he entered, an old woman kneeling



in the chimney-corner before a sick man seated in a chair, and another

man, who was standing with his face turned toward the fireplace. The



house consisted of a single room, which was lighted by a wretched

window covered with linen cloth. The floor was of beaten earth; the



chair, a table, and a truckle-bed comprised the whole of the

furniture. The commandant had never seen anything so poor and bare,



not even in Russia, where the moujik's huts are like the dens of wild

beasts. Nothing within it spoke of ordinary life; there were not even



the simplest appliances for cooking food of the commonest description.

It might have been a dog-kennel without a drinking-pan. But for the



truckle-bed, a smock-frock hanging from a nail, and some sabots filled

with straw, which composed the invalid's entire wardrobe, this cottage



would have looked as empty as the others. The aged peasant woman upon

her knees was devoting all her attention to keeping the sufferer's



feet in a tub filled with a brown liquid. Hearing a footstep and the

clank of spurs, which sounded strangely in ears accustomed to the



plodding pace of country folk, the man turned to Genestas. A sort of

surprise, in which the old woman shared was visible in his face.



"There is no need to ask if you are M. Benassis," said the soldier.

"You will pardon me, sir, if, as a stranger impatient to see you, I






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