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The Country Doctor-Part13_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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dressed woman, with thin locks of hair, who held the dead man's hand

in hers in a way that spoke eloquently.



The dead master of the house had been arrayed in his best clothes, and

now lay stretched out cold and stiff upon the bed. They had drawn the



curtains aside; the thought of heaven seemed to brood over the quiet

face and the white hair--it was like the closing scene of a drama. On



either side of the bed stood the children and the nearest relations of

the husband and wife. These last stood in a line on either side; the



wife's kin upon the left, and those of her husband on the right. Both

men and women were kneeling in prayer, and almost all of them were in



tears. Tall candles stood about the bed. The cure of the parish and

his assistants had taken their places in the middle of the room,



beside the bier. There was something tragical about the scene, with

the head of the family lying before the coffin, which was waiting to



be closed down upon him forever.

"Ah!" cried the widow, turning as she saw Benassis, "if the skill of



the best of men could not save you, my dear lord, it was because it

was ordained in heaven that you should precede me to the tomb! Yes,



this hand of yours, that used to press mine so kindly, is cold! I have

lost my dear helpmate for ever, and our household has lost its beloved



head, for truly you were the guide of us all! Alas! there is not one

of those who are weeping with me who has not known all the worth of



your nature, and felt the light of your soul, but I alone knew all the

patience and the kindness of your heart. Oh! my husband, my husband!



must I bid you farewell for ever? Farewell to you, our stay and

support! Farewell to you, my dear master! And we, your children,--for



to each of us you gave the same fatherly love,--all we, your children,

have lost our father!"



The widow flung herself upon the dead body and clasped it in a tight

embrace, as if her kisses and the tears with which she covered it



could give it warmth again; during the pause, came the wail of the

servants:



"THE MASTER IS DEAD!"

"Yes," the widow went on, "he is dead! Our beloved who gave us our



bread, who sowed and reaped for us, who watched over our happiness,

who guided us through life, who ruled so kindly among us. NOW, I may



speak in his praise, and say that he never caused me the slightest

sorrow; he was good and strong and patient. Even while we were



torturing him for the sake of his health, so precious to us, 'Let it

be, children, it is all no use,' the dear lamb said, just in the same



tone of voice with which he had said, 'Everything is all right,

friends,' only a few days before. Ah! grand Dieu! a few days ago! A



few days have been enough to take away the gladness from our house and

to darken our lives, to close the eyes of the best, most upright, most



revered of men. No one could plow as he could. Night or day, he would

go about over the mountains, he feared nothing, and when he came back



he had always a smile for his wife and children. Ah! he was our

beloved! It was dull here by the fireside when HE was away, and our



food lost all its relish. Oh! how will it be now, when our guardian

angel will be laid away under the earth, and we shall never see him



any more? Never any more, dear kinsfolk and friends; never any more,

my children! Yes, my children have lost their kind father, our



relations and friends have lost their good kinsman and their trusty

friend, the household has lost its master, and I have lost



everything!"

She took the hand of the dead again, and knelt, so that she might



press her face close to his as she kissed it. The servants' cry, "THE

MASTER IS DEAD!" was again repeated three times.



Just then the eldest son came to his mother to say, "The people from

Saint-Laurent have just come, mother; we want some wine for them."



"Take the keys," she said in a low tone, and in a different voice from

that in which she had just expressed her grief; "you are the master of



the house, my son; see that they receive the welcome that your father

would have given them; do not let them find any change.



"Let me have one more long look," she went on. "But alas! my good

husband, you do not feel my presence now, I cannot bring back warmth



to you! I only wish that I could comfort you still, could let you know

that so long as I live you will dwell in the heart that you made glad,



could tell you that I shall be happy in the memory of my happiness--

that the dear thought of you will live on in this room. Yes, as long






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