第4章 Father Milon 米隆老爹

For a month the hot sun has been parching the fields. Nature is expanding beneath its rays; the fields are green as far as the eye can see. The big azure dome of the sky is unclouded. The farms of Normandy, scattered over the plains and surrounded by a belt of tall beeches, look, from a distance, like little woods. On closer view, after lowering the worm-eaten wooden bars, you imagine yourself in an immense garden, for all the ancient apple-trees, as gnarled as the peasants themselves, are in bloom. The sweet scent of their blossoms mingles with the heavy smell of the earth and the penetrating odor of the stables.

It is noon. The family is eating under the shade of a pear tree planted in front of the door; father, mother, the four children, and the help—two women and three men are all there. All are silent. The soup is eaten and then a dish of potatoes fried with bacon is brought on.

From time to time one of the women gets up and takes a pitcher down to the cellar to fetch more cider.

The man, a big fellow about forty years old, is watching a grape vine, still bare, which is winding and twisting like a snake along the side of the house.

At last he says: “Father's vine is budding early this year. Perhaps we may get something from it.”

The woman then turns round and looks, without saying a word.

This vine is planted on the spot where their father had been shot.

It was during the war of 1870. The Prussians were occupying the whole country. General Faidherbe, with the Northern Division of the army, was opposing them.

The Prussians had established their headquarters at this farm. The old farmer to whom it belonged, Father Pierre Milon, had received and quartered them to the best of his ability.

For a month the German vanguard had been in this village. The French remained motionless, ten leagues away; and yet, every night, some of the Uhlans disappeared.

Of all the isolated scouts, of all those who were sent to the outposts, in groups of not more than three, not one ever returned.

They were picked up the next morning in a field or in a ditch. Even their horses were found along the roads with their throats cut.

These murders seemed to be done by the same men, who could never be found.

The country was terrorized. Farmers were shot on suspicion; women were imprisoned;children were frightened in order to try and obtain information. Nothing could be ascertained.

But, one morning, Father Milon was found stretched out in the barn, with a sword gash across his face.

Two Uhlans were found dead about a mile and a half from the farm. One of them was still holding his bloody sword in his hand. He had fought, tried to defend himself.

A court-martial was immediately held in the open air, in front of the farm. The old man was brought before it.

He was sixty-eight years old, small, thin, bent, with two big hands resembling the claws of a crab. His colorless hair was sparse and thin, like the down of a young duck, allowing patches of his scalp to be seen. The brown and wrinkled skin of his neck showed big veins which disappeared behind his jaws and came out again at the temples. He had the reputation of being miserly and hard to deal with.

They stood him up between four soldiers, in front of the kitchen table, which had been dragged outside. Five officers and the colonel seated themselves opposite him.

The colonel spoke in French: “Father Milon, since we have been here we have only had praise for you. You have always been obliging and even attentive to us. But to-day a terrible accusation is hanging over you, and you must clear the matter up. How did you receive that wound on your face?”

The peasant answered nothing.

The colonel continued: “Your silence accuses you, Father Milon. But I want you to answer me! Do you understand? Do you know who killed the two Uhlans who were found this morning near Calvaire?”

The old man answered clearly: “I did.”

The colonel, surprised, was silent for a minute, looking straight at the prisoner. Father Milon stood impassive, with the stupid look of the peasant, his eyes lowered as though he were talking to the priest. Just one thing betrayed an uneasy mind; he was continually swallowing his saliva, with a visible effort, as though his throat were terribly contracted.

The man's family, his son Jean, his daughter-in-law and his two grandchildren were standing a few feet behind him, bewildered and affrighted.

The colonel went on: “Do you also know who killed all the scouts who have been found dead, for a month, throughout the country, every morning?”

The old man answered with the same stupid look: “I did.”

“You killed them all?”

“Uh huh! I did.”

“You alone? All alone?”

“Uh huh!”

“Tell me how you did it.”

This time the man seemed moved; the necessity for talking any length of time annoyed him visibly. He stammered: “I dunno! I simply did it.”

The colonel continued: “I warn you that you will have to tell me everything. You might as well make up your mind right away. How did you begin?”

The man cast a troubled look toward his family, standing close behind him. He hesitated a minute longer, and then suddenly made up his mind to obey the order.

“I was coming home one night at about ten o'clock, the night after you got here. You and your soldiers had taken more than fifty ecus worth of forage from me, as well as a cow and two sheep. I said to myself: ‘As much as they take from you; just so much will you make them pay back.' And then I had other things on my mind which I will tell you. Just then I noticed one of your soldiers who was smoking his pipe by the ditch behind the barn. I went and got my scythe and crept up slowly behind him, so that he couldn't hear me. And I cut his head off with one single blow, just as I would a blade of grass, before he could say‘Booh! ' If you should look at the bottom of the pond, you will find him tied up in a potato-sack, with a stone fastened to it.

“I got an idea. I took all his clothes, from his boots to his cap, and hid them away in the little wood behind the yard.”

The old man stopped. The officers remained speechless, looking at each other. The questioning began again, and this is what they learned.

Once this murder committed, the man had lived with this one thought: “Kill the Prussians!” He hated them with the blind, fierce hate of the greedy yet patriotic peasant. He had his idea, as he said. He waited several days.

He was allowed to go and come as he pleased, because he had shown himself so humble, submissive and obliging to the invaders. Each night he saw the outposts leave. One night he followed them, having heard the name of the village to which the men were going, and having learned the few words of German which he needed for his plan through associating with the soldiers.

He left through the back yard, slipped into the woods, found the dead man's clothes and put them on.

Then he began to crawl through the fields, following along the hedges in order to keep out of sight, listening to the slightest noises, as wary as a poacher.

As soon as he thought the time ripe, he approached the road and hid behind a bush. He waited for a while. Finally, toward midnight, he heard the sound of a galloping horse. The man put his ear to the ground in order to make sure that only one horseman was approaching, then he got ready.

An Uhlan came galloping along, carrying despatches. As he went, he was all eyes and ears. When he was only a few feet away, Father Milon dragged himself across the road, moaning: “Hilfe! Hilfe!” ( Help! Help! ) The horseman stopped, and recognizing a German, he thought he was wounded and dismounted, coming nearer without any suspicion, and just as he was leaning over the unknown man, he received, in the pit of his stomach, a heavy thrust from the long curved blade of the sabre. He dropped without suffering pain, quivering only in the final throes.

Then the farmer, radiant with the silent joy of an old peasant, got up again, and, for his own pleasure, cut the dead man's throat. He then dragged the body to the ditch and threw it in.

The horse quietly awaited its master. Father Milon mounted him and started galloping across the plains.

About an hour later he noticed two more Uhlans who were returning home, side by side.He rode straight for them, once more crying “Hilfe! Hilfe!”

The Prussians, recognizing the uniform, let him approach without distrust. The old man passed between them like a cannon-ball, felling them both, one with his sabre and the other with a revolver.

Then he killed the horses, German horses! After that he quickly returned to the woods and hid one of the horses. He left his uniform there and again put on his old clothes; then going back into bed, he slept until morning.

For four days he did not go out, waiting for the inquest to be terminated; but on the fifth day he went out again and killed two more soldiers by the same stratagem. From that time on he did not stop. Each night he wandered about in search of adventure, killing Prussians, sometimes here and sometimes there, galloping through deserted fields, in the moonlight, a lost Uhlan, a hunter of men. Then, his task accomplished, leaving behind him the bodies lying along the roads, the old farmer would return and hide his horse and uniform.

He went, toward noon, to carry oats and water quietly to his mount, and he fed it well as he required from it a great amount of work.

But one of those whom he had attacked the night before, in defending himself slashed the old peasant across the face with his sabre.

However, he had killed them both. He had come back and hidden the horse and put on his ordinary clothes again; but as he reached home he began to feel faint, and had dragged himself as far as the stable, being unable to reach the house.

They had found him there, bleeding, on the straw.

When he had finished his tale, he suddenly lifted up his head and looked proudly at the Prussian officers.

The colonel, who was gnawing at his mustache, asked: “You have nothing else to say?”

“Nothing more; I have finished my task; I killed sixteen, not one more or less.”

“Do you know that you are going to die?”

“I haven't asked for mercy.”

“Have you been a soldier?”

“Yes, I served my time. And then, you had killed my father, who was a soldier of the first Emperor. And last month you killed my youngest son, Francois, near Evreux. I owed you one for that; I paid. We are quits.”

The officers were looking at each other.

The old man continued: “Eight for my father, eight for the boy—we are quits. I did not seek any quarrel with you. I don't know you. I don't even know where you come from. And here you are, ordering me about in my home as though it were your own. I took my revenge upon the others. I'm not sorry.”

And, straightening up his bent back, the old man folded his arms in the attitude of a modest hero.

The Prussians talked in a low tone for a long time. One of them, a captain, who had also lost his son the previous month, was defending the poor wretch.

Then the colonel arose and, approaching Father Milon, said in a low voice: “Listen, old man, there is perhaps a way of saving your life, it is to—”

But the man was not listening, and, his eyes fixed on the hated officer, while the wind played with the downy hair on his head, he distorted his slashed face, giving it a truly terrible expression, and, swelling out his chest, he spat, as hard as he could, right in the Prussian's face.

The colonel, furious, raised his hand, and for the second time the man spat in his face.

All the officers had jumped up and were shrieking orders at the same time.

In less than a minute the old man, still impassive, was pushed up against the wall and shot, looking smilingly the while toward Jean, his eldest son, his daughter-in-law and his two grandchildren, who witnessed this scene in dumb terror.

一个月来，烈日一直在烘烤着田野。大自然在烈日的光线照耀下伸展开来；极目远眺，田野一片翠绿。天空蔚蓝的苍穹晴朗无云。诺曼底的农庄散布在平原上，一圈高大的山毛榉环绕其间，远远看上去犹如小树林一般。走近一看，虫蛀的栅栏也变矮了，你会以为自己进入了一座一望无际的花园，因为所有像农夫们一样饱经风霜的老苹果树都在开花。苹果花的甜香与泥土的浓郁气息，以及牲口棚的刺鼻气味，混合在了一起。

时值中午。一家人正在门前的一棵梨树荫下吃饭；父亲、母亲、四个孩子，两女三男五个帮工都在那里。所有人都没有说话。汤喝完后，又上了一盘土豆煨咸肉。

其中一个女帮工不时地站起来，拎着大罐子，下到酒窖里，去盛苹果酒。

男主人，四十来岁，人高马大，正在望着一棵尚未挂果的葡萄藤，只见葡萄藤像蛇一样沿着房子的侧墙蜿蜒缠绕。

最后，他说：“老爹的葡萄藤今年及早发芽。说不定我们可以吃上它结的果子咧。”

这时，女主人扭过头看了看，一声没吭。

这个葡萄藤就种在老爹被枪决的地方。

那是在1870年战争期间。普鲁士人占领了整个这一带地区。费德尔布将军率领的北方军正在抵抗他们。

当时，普鲁士军把司令部驻扎在这个农庄。老农夫皮埃尔·米隆老爹是这个农庄的主人，他竭尽所能接待他们，安置他们。

普鲁士军的先头部队抵达这个村子一个月来，法军在相距十里格的地方始终按兵不动；然而，每天夜里，普鲁士军都有一些枪骑兵[1]失踪。

所有单独行动的侦察兵，所有被派到前哨的侦察兵，只要一行不超过三人，皆一去不返。

他们总在隔天早上被人在地里或壕沟里发现。即使他们的马，也被发现割断喉咙横尸路边。

这些暗杀好像是同一伙人干的，但谁也没能追查到他们。

这个地区人心惶惶。受到怀疑的农民被枪杀；妇女们遭到关押；为了设法获取线索，他们还恐吓孩子们。最终什么也没能查到。

但是，一天早上，米隆老爹被发现躺在牲口棚里，脸上有一道深深的刀伤。

两个枪骑兵死在了距离这个农庄大约一英里半的地方。其中一个手里还握着他血淋淋的马刀。他搏斗过，想设法自卫。

一场露天军事审判立刻在农庄前面展开。老人被带了上来。

他六十八岁，瘦小佝偻，两只大手酷似一对蟹爪，苍白的头发稀疏细弱，宛若雏鸭绒毛，头皮斑驳可见，脖子上皱纹斑斑的褐色皮肤露出一根根粗筋，这些粗筋钻到下巴后面不见了踪影，又从鬓角钻出来。他的吝啬和难打交道是出了名的。

他们让他站在一张从厨房拖到外面的桌子面前，周围四个普鲁士兵把守。五个军官和上校坐在他的对面。

上校用法国话说道：“米隆老爹，自从到这里以来，我们对你只有称赞。你总是对我们热心帮助，甚至关心体贴。但今天，有一项可怕的指控悬在你的头上，所以你必须澄清这件事。你脸上的那道伤是怎么来的？”

这个农夫没有回答。

上校接着说道：“你不说话，就说明你有罪，米隆老爹。但是，我要你回答我！你听明白了吗？你知道今天早上在十字架附近发现的两个枪骑兵是谁杀的吗？”

老人明确答道：“是我杀的。”

上校吃了一惊，沉默了一会儿，直盯着这个拘留犯。米隆老爹带着农民那副呆呆的表情，站在那里，一动不动，眼睛低垂，就像他在对牧师说话一样。只有一件事露出了他心神不安的迹象，就是明显看到他努力咽着口水，好像他的喉咙被可怕收缩似的。

老人的全家——儿子让、儿媳和两个孙子——都站在他后面几英尺的地方，慌乱惊恐。

上校接着又说：“你也知道一个月来每天早上整个地区所有被发现死亡的侦察兵都是谁杀的吗？”

老人用同样木木的表情答道：“是我杀的。”

“全是你杀的？”

“嗯嗯！全是我杀的。”

“你一个人？独自一人？”

“嗯嗯！”

“告诉我，你是怎么杀的。”

这次，老人似有所动；要说的话需要那么长时间，显然让他不耐烦。他结结巴巴地说：“我不知道！我就那么干了。”

上校接着说：“我警告你，你必须全部告诉我。你最好马上决定。你是怎么开始下手的？”

老人向紧挨着站在他身后的家人不安地看了一眼，又迟疑了一会儿，随后突然下定决心顺应对方的要求。

“一天夜里，就是你们到这里后的第二天夜里，大概十点钟，我正要回家。你和你的那些士兵抢走了我五十埃居[2]的草料，还抢走了一头牛和两只羊。我对自己说：‘他们抢走多少，就要他们还多少。’当时我心里还有其他事儿，我会告诉你的。正在这时，我注意到你们的一个士兵坐在我的牲口棚后面的壕沟边正抽着烟。我去拿来了镰刀，蹑手蹑脚慢慢地走到他身后，以免他听到。然后，我一镰下去就割了他的头，简直像割一片草叶一般，他连叫都没能来得及。你看一下池塘底，就会发现他被捆住塞进装土豆的麻袋里，麻袋上绑着一块石头。

“我转念一想，就从靴子到帽子扒下了他所有的衣服，然后把它们藏在了院子后面的小树林里。”

老人停住了话头。那些军官面面相觑，没有说话。审讯再次开始，下面就是他们听到的情况。

老人一旦开了这次杀戒，心里就总存着这个念头：“杀普鲁士人！”他对他们带着无法控制的强烈仇恨，这种仇恨是既热切又爱国的农民才会有。正如他所说，他有自己的打算。他等了好几天。

因为他对侵略者低声下气、逆来顺受、热心相助，所以他们允许他随意出入。他每天夜里都看到那些侦察兵出发。一天夜里，他听到那些侦察兵要去的那个村子的名字后，就跟在他们后面。他学会了一些德国话，因为他实施自己的计划，需要跟那些士兵交往。

他从后院出来，溜进树林，找到那个死去士兵的衣服穿上去。

随后，他开始顺着树篱爬过田地，以免被人发现；他像偷猎者一样机警，倾听哪怕最小的声响。

他认为时机一成熟，便靠近大路，藏在矮树丛里。他等了一会儿。终于，快到半夜时，他听到了一阵飞驰的马蹄声。老人将耳朵贴在地上，以确定只有一个骑兵走近，然后再严阵以待。

一个骑兵带着急件飞驰而来，一边飞奔，一边眼观六路、耳听八方。等他离着仅有几英尺远时，米隆老爹便拖着身子爬上大路，一边呻吟：“Hilfe！Hilfe！（救命！救命！）”骑兵停住马，听出是一个德国人，以为他是受伤落马，就毫不怀疑地上前来。正当他俯身去看这个素不认识的人时，长长的弯刀就猛地戳进了他的胸口。他没受什么痛苦就倒了下来，只是最后挣扎时颤抖了几下。

之后，这个老农夫洋溢着一位老农无声的喜悦，又站起来，而且自己寻开心，还割断了死人的喉咙，随后把尸首拖到壕沟边，扔了进去。

那匹马静静地等候着它的主人。米隆老爹骑上马，飞驰在平原上。

大约一小时后，他又看到两个正返回营地的枪骑兵并排走来。他径直向他们奔去，再次大声喊道：“Hilfe！Hilfe！”

两个普鲁士兵认出了军装，没有怀疑就让他走近前来。老人像炮弹一样从他们两人中间掠过去，马刀和手枪左右开弓，一下干倒了他们两个。

接着，他又宰了那两匹马—德国马！之后，他飞快地回到树林，藏起了其中一匹马。他在那里脱掉军装，又穿上自己原来那身衣服，然后回家钻进被窝，一直睡到了第二天早上。

他连续四天都没有出门，等待调查结束；但是，第五天他又出去用同样的计策杀了两个普鲁士兵。从那以后，他就没有住过手。每天夜里，他骑着马在月光下飞驰过荒芜的田地，东奔西跑，四处游荡，寻找冒险的机会，杀死普鲁士人，既像一个迷路的枪骑兵，又像一个专门杀人的猎手。完成工作后，老农夫常常把那些尸首撇在身后的路边，回去藏好自己的马和军装。

快到中午时，他悄悄给那匹马送去燕麦和水，把它喂得饱饱的，因为他需要它干很多活。

但是，前一天夜里，老农夫袭击其中一个人时，那个人自卫，用马刀在老人的脸上砍了一刀。

然而，他还是杀死了那两个人。他回去后，藏好那匹马，又穿上了平常那身衣服；但是，他回家时，开始感到眩晕，拖着身子只走到了牲口棚那么远，没能回到房子里。

人们发现他躺在那里的稻草上，浑身是血。

他讲完自己的经历后，突然抬起头，扬眉吐气地看着那些普鲁士军官。

上校捻着胡子，问道：“你再没有什么可说的了吗？”

“没有了。我已经完成了自己的任务；我杀了十六个，不多不少。”

“你知道你快要死了吗？”

“我从未要求过宽恕。”

“你当过兵吗？”

“当过，我打过仗。当时，你们杀了我的父亲，他是拿破仑一世皇帝的士兵。上个月你们又在埃夫勒附近杀了我的小儿子法朗索瓦。我为此欠你们的人情；我已经还清了。我们两相抵销。”

军官们面面相觑。

老人接着说道：“八个是为我的父亲，八个是为我的儿子——我们两清了。我不是找你们事。我不认识你们，甚至不知道你们从哪里来。而你们到了这里，在我家里把我指挥得团团转，就像这是你们自己家一样。我在那些人身上报了仇。我不后悔。”

说完，老人挺起佝偻的后背，以端庄的英雄姿态交叉双臂。

那些普鲁士人低声谈了很久。其中一个上尉也在上个月失去了儿子，他为这个可怜的苦命人进行辩护。

然后，上校站起来，走近米隆老爹身边，低声说道：“听着，老头，也许有一个方法可以救你一命，就是要——”

但是，老人没有在听，他的眼睛盯着那个可恨的军官，这时风逗弄着他头上绒毛般的稀发，他扭曲了带着刀伤的脸，露出了一副真正可怕的表情，随后挺起胸膛，竭尽全力对准那个普鲁士人的脸吐了一口。

上校勃然大怒，抬起一只手；紧接着，老人又冲他吐了一口。

所有的军官都跳将起来，同时尖叫着喊出了命令。

不到一分钟，仍然镇定自若的老人就被推到墙边执行枪决，他的长子、儿媳和两个孙子默然无声惊恐地目睹这一幕，吓蒙了，老人却面带微笑看着他们。