World Literature Classics Library: The Count of Monte Cristo

Chapter 42 The Bridge of Gard Inn (1)
Anyone who has traveled on foot in the south of France like me will see that between Bellegate and Beaucaire, almost halfway from the village to the city, it is closer to Beaucaire and a little further to Bellegate. There is a small inn a little farther away. A thin iron sheet is hung in front of the door, and it will rattle if there is a little wind. On it is written "Pont du Gard Inn" crookedly.This inn, if we go down the Rhone, is on the left side of the road, with its back to the river.Next to the inn there is what is called a garden in the Languedoc, that is to say, an enclosed space directly opposite the gates through which travelers come and go, in which there are a few half-dead olive trees and a few fig trees with white leaves and dusty figs. , some vegetables were planted under the tree, nothing more than garlic, peppers and onions, and a tall five-needle pine stood like an unnoticed sentinel in the corner, with a crooked trunk and a dejected look, scattered all over the place. The fan-shaped canopy is baked and crunched in the 30-degree sun.These tall and low trees follow the Mistral wind, the dry, cold and strong northwest or north wind in southern France and the Mediterranean Sea.The wind direction is bent to one side.This Mistral wind is one of the three major scourges in Provence. Some people may or may not know the other two scourges. One is the River Durante and the other is the Parliament.The surrounding plain is more like a large lake filled with dust, with sparsely grown wheat with stalks but no leaves. Nine out of ten locals use wheat as flower seeds out of curiosity, just to have a look.But these straws are a good habitat for grasshoppers, and their piercing and monotonous singing will accompany tourists who get lost in this remote corner step by step.

For about seven or eight years, this small inn has been run by a couple. The only servants are a girl named Trinate as a maid and a young man named Paco who takes care of the stables. All things were taken care of here, for the canal from Beaucaire to Exmoor, when it was dug, was alive with freight ships instead of wagons, and horse-drawn barges instead of stage-coaches.The Rhone River on one side of the canal prospered because of the canal, but the road on the other side was depressed because of the canal.And the unfortunate innkeeper was already very distressed, and the canal seemed to add to his misery, but it happened to pass about a hundred paces away from the inn.As for the inn itself, we have already introduced it just now. Although there are not many words, every sentence is true.

The innkeeper was about forty to forty-five years old, tall, thin, short-tempered, with piercing deep-set eyes, an eagle nose, and teeth as white as a carnivorous beast. He looked like a French southerner.Although he is a bit unforgiving at this age, his hair seems determined not to turn gray, and his collar-like beard, all of which grow densely, are short and curly, with a few white strands occasionally interspersed.He had a brown complexion to begin with, and yet the unlucky fellow was always at the gate of the inn, hoping to see company coming, either on foot or in a carriage, but almost always in vain.And so he waited in the scorching sun, like a Spaniard driving a mule, with only a red handkerchief on his head for shade, and no other protection on his face, so that his skin was again painted a dark brown. .This man was the Gaspar Caderos we knew before.

His wife, on the contrary, was named Madeleine Radelle, a pale, emaciated woman with a sickly countenance.She is from the vicinity of Arles, and the people of Arles are very beautiful, and this woman was quite beautiful at first, but she was suffering from low-grade fever-this is the water village of Exmore and the Camargue An epidemic, her face was haggard.She was almost always in the second-floor room, sitting shivering, reclining in a chair, or leaning against the bed, while her man kept watch at the door all day long.The man would feel better if he stood at the door for a while longer, because every time he came to this bitter wife, he would only listen to her complaining endlessly about her life.Men also always use a very thoughtful remark against her, saying: "Don't say it, 'Carcomte', it's God's will." This "Carcomte" is Madeleine Lade Nickel, because she is from the village of Carcomte between Salon and Langbec.There is a custom in that place to call people by nicknames instead of names, so Caderos gave Madeleine such a nickname. Maybe the words Madeleine are too soft and beautiful, and he said no to them because of his clumsy tongue. it is good.

But, in spite of Caderousse's resignation, we must not think that the innkeeper was indifferent to the poverty which the hateful Canal de Beaucaire left him in, nor that he did not blaspheme his wife at all. Listen to your complaints.Like all southerners of France, he lived modestly and without extravagance, but he was vain and wanted to show off.When he was rich, he never missed a fire seal festival (a folk festival in Provence, France.), and he never missed a time to carry Talasglong, a legendary monster in French Provence, and its statue was displayed on religious festivals. .Whenever there is an opportunity, always take the "Calconte people" to join in the fun.One of them was dressed in the handsome dress of a man from the south of France, a little Catalusian and a little Andalusian, and the other was in the charming dress of a woman from Arles, which was a little imitation of Greek and Arabian dress. .But gradually, pocket watch chains, collars, colorful belts, embroidered blouses, velvet coats, elegant heeled stockings, colorful ankle boots, shoes with silver buckles, all disappeared. up.Gaspar Cuderos could no longer afford to be as well dressed as in the old days, and he and his wife had to avoid these pompous ceremonies.But the joyful laughter at the ceremony would always reach his inn, and he could only complain to himself when he heard it. Besides, the inn had not made much money for a long time, and now it was just a place to live.

It was the same day as usual, and Cuderos found some time in the morning to stand at the gate, looking listlessly at the hens pecking at the bare grass, and at the other end of the road.The road is deserted, with no vehicles or pedestrians, and the north and south ends don't know where to go.Suddenly his wife screamed, and he had to leave the door and muttered upstairs. The door of the inn was still wide open, as if to remind the passing passengers not to forget that this was an inn.Cudeross was going up the stairs with his eyes fixed on the road we have been talking about.The road is like a desert at noon, bare, empty, vast and white, sandwiched between two rows of thin trees and stretching into endless distance.Cudeross was well aware that no traveler would venture into a place so dreadful as the Sahara unless he could not help but be compelled to travel at such a time.

However, as things happen in the world, if Cudeross had been on guard at the gate, he would have seen a rider on a horse gradually appear on the other side of Bellegatt.The horse and the man came leisurely and unhurriedly. It seemed that the man and the horse were in peace.The horse is a Hungarian breed, and it walks in small steps unhurriedly. The rider is a priest, dressed in black and wearing a three-cornered hat on his head. Although the sun is scorching at noon, he is comfortable trotting all the way on the horse. .When they reached the entrance of the small inn, the horse stopped, but it was hard to say whether the horse didn't want to go or the people didn't let the horse go.At any rate, the rider dismounted from his horse, took the bridle, fastened the horse to a broken window frame connected by only one hinge, and walked towards the gate, wiping his forehead with a red cotton handkerchief. beads of sweat.The priest had a cane in his hand, and with the iron end he tapped three times on the threshold.A black dog immediately stood up, barked and walked a few steps forward, showing its sharp white teeth. It was full of hostility, but it could be seen that this dog rarely saw anyone coming here.There was also the sound of heavy footsteps on the wooden stairs against the wall. The poor innkeeper hunched over, walked backwards down the stairs, and hurried towards the priest standing at the door.

"Come," said Caderousse, alarmed, "I'm coming, don't bark, Margotan. Don't be afraid, sir, the dog barks and doesn't bite. You want a drink, don't you? Look at the day, It's too hot... Ah, I'm sorry," Caderos was stunned when he realized what kind of guest he was about to welcome, "Forgive me, I didn't see who I was honored to welcome, what do you think? What do you want? What do you want? Mr. Elder, just order.”

The priest looked at Cuderos carefully for two or three seconds with an uncharacteristic expression, he even seemed to draw the innkeeper's attention on purpose, and then saw the expression on the innkeeper's face only to show that he was wondering why he couldn't hear the guest Answered, so I felt that there was no need to be mysterious anymore, and asked with a very strong Italian accent:
"You are Mr. Cudeross?"

"Yes, sir," said the boss.It’s good that the guest didn’t speak, but when he asked this question, he felt even more baffled, “It’s me, Gaspar Caderos, please tell me what you can do.”

"Gaspar Cuderos... very well, I think the first and last names are right, you used to live on the fifth floor of the small building on Maihang Lane, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"You have a tailor's business there?"

"Yes, but this business is not easy to do. It's too hot in Marseilles. I think people there will end up naked. But speaking of hot weather, would you like some drinks to quench your thirst, Monsieur Elder?"

"Okay, bring me a bottle of your best wine and we'll talk about it, shall we?"

Caderos still had a few bottles of cayo left, and in order not to miss the chance to get another bottle, he hastily opened the trap door on the floor next to him and went down to the cellar.The room they were in seemed to be a room on the ground floor, now converted into a living room and kitchen. Five minutes later, Caderos came up from the cellar and saw the elder sitting on a wooden bench with his elbows resting on a long table.Margotan, the dog, seemed to understand that today was different from usual, and this rare visitor wanted something to eat, so he made peace with the elder, lay down on the side, stretched his furless neck, and stared at him. He looked around with listless eyes.The boss brought the bottle and glass to the elder, and the elder asked:

"Are you alone?"

"Oh, God, yes, just one person, or at least not much less than one person, Monsieur Elder, because my wife, the poor 'Calconte', is always sick, what? I can't even work."

"Oh, you're married!" said the priest with interest, looking round again, as if to estimate the penny worth of the poor couple's possessions.

"You have seen that I am not a rich man, have you not, Monsieur the Presbyterian?" said Caderousse with a sigh, "but what can be done? You cannot get ahead in this world by being honest. "The elder stared at him with sharp eyes, and he didn't panic. He put his hand on his chest, nodded and continued: "Yes. I deserve it for being an honest person. Now it's not just a person who can boast about this. Mouth."

"It would be good if you boasted that what you said was true," said the elder. "I firmly believe that sooner or later the honest will be rewarded and the wicked will be punished."

"That's what you have to say now, Monsieur the Presbyterian," continued Cuderos with a bitter expression, "but whether people believe what you say is their business."

"You are wrong in saying that, sir," said the elder. "Perhaps I will prove myself right in a little while."

"What do you mean?" asked Caderos in surprise.

"I mean, I have to make sure you're the one I'm looking for first."

"What evidence do you want me to take?"

"Did you know there was a sailor named Dantès in 1814 or 1815?"

"Dantès! . . . If it were him, it would be poor Edmond. Yes, I think so, and he is a very dear friend of mine," cried Caderosse, with a sudden look of embarrassment. A streak of crimson red, and the elder's bright, calm gaze seemed to widen gradually, measuring Cuderos from head to toe.

"Yes, I think his name is Edmond."

"It's Edmond, boy. I remember, and it's all right, as infallible as my name is Gaspar Cuderos. How is poor Edmond now, sir?" ? Do you know him? Is he still alive? Is he free? Is he living happily?"

"He died in prison. Even convicts, with iron shackles on their feet and heavy iron balls hanging on their feet, were forced to work hard in Toulon. They were not as desperate and miserable as him."

Caderos' face, which was still crimson just now, suddenly turned pale as a corpse. He turned away quickly, and the elder saw him wiping a tear from his face with the corner of the red handkerchief wrapped around his head.

"Poor young man," murmured Cuderos, "hey, doesn't that prove what I just told you, sir? Doesn't that mean that a good God is only kind to the wicked? Ah, "Caderos continued with the vivid tone of a French southerner, "The world is going down. I hope that the gunpowder will fall from the sky for two days, and the fire will be blown for an hour. Isn't that all right?"

(End of this chapter)