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1Monseigneur in the Country A beautiful landscape, with the corn bright in it, but not abundant. Patches of poor rye
2where corn should have been, patches of poor peas and beans, patches of most coarse vegetable substitutes for wheat. On
3inanimate nature, as on the men and women who cultivated it, a prevalent tendency towards an appearance of vegetating
4unwillingly--a dejected disposition to give up, and wither away. Monsieur the Marquis in his travelling carriage (which
5might have been lighter), conducted by four post-horses and two postilions, fagged up a steep hill. A blush on the
6countenance of Monsieur the Marquis was no impeachment of his high breeding; it was not from within; it was occasioned
7by an external circumstance beyond his control--the setting sun. The sunset struck so brilliantly into the travelling
8carriage when it gained the hill-top, that its occupant was steeped in crimson. "It will die out," said Monsieur the
9Marquis, glancing at his hands, "directly." In effect, the sun was so low that it dipped at the moment. When the heavy
10drag had been adjusted to the wheel, and the carriage slid down hill, with a cinderous smell, in a cloud of dust, the
11red glow departed quickly; the sun and the Marquis going down together, there was no glow left when the drag was taken
12off. But, there remained a broken country, bold and open, a little village at the bottom of the hill, a broad sweep and
13rise beyond it, a church-tower, a windmill, a forest for the chase, and a crag with a fortress on it used as a prison.
14Round upon all these darkening objects as the night drew on, the Marquis looked, with the air of one who was coming near
15home. The village had its one poor street, with its poor brewery, poor tannery, poor tavern, poor stable-yard for relays
16of post-horses, poor fountain, all usual poor appointments. It had its poor people too. All its people were poor, and
17many of them were sitting at their doors, shredding spare onions and the like for supper, while many were at the
18fountain, washing leaves, and grasses, and any such small yieldings of the earth that could be eaten. Expressive signs
19of what made them poor, were not wanting; the tax for the state, the tax for the church, the tax for the lord, tax local
20and tax general, were to be paid here and to be paid there, according to solemn inscription in the little village, until
21the wonder was, that there was any village left unswallowed. Few children were to be seen, and no dogs. As to the men
22and women, their choice on earth was stated in the prospect--Life on the lowest terms that could sustain it, down in the
23little village under the mill; or captivity and Death in the dominant prison on the crag. Heralded by a courier in
24advance, and by the cracking of his postilions' whips, which twined snake-like about their heads in the evening air, as
25if he came attended by the Furies, Monsieur the Marquis drew up in his travelling carriage at the posting-house gate. It
26was hard by the fountain, and the peasants suspended their operations to look at him. He looked at them, and saw in
27them, without knowing it, the slow sure filing down of misery-worn face and figure, that was to make the meagreness of
28Frenchmen an English superstition which should survive the truth through the best part of a hundred years. Monsieur the
29Marquis cast his eyes over the submissive faces that drooped before him, as the like of himself had drooped before
30Monseigneur of the Court--only the difference was, that these faces drooped merely to suffer and not to propitiate--when
31a grizzled mender of the roads joined the group. "Bring me hither that fellow!" said the Marquis to the courier. The
32fellow was brought, cap in hand, and the other fellows closed round to look and listen, in the manner of the people at
33the Paris fountain. "I passed you on the road?" "Monseigneur, it is true. I had the honour of being passed on the road."
34"Coming up the hill, and at the top of the hill, both?" "Monseigneur, it is true." "What did you look at, so fixedly?"
35"Monseigneur, I looked at the man." He stooped a little, and with his tattered blue cap pointed under the carriage. All
36his fellows stooped to look under the carriage. "What man, pig? And why look there?" "Pardon, Monseigneur; he swung by
37the chain of the shoe--the drag." "Who?" demanded the traveller. "Monseigneur, the man." "May the Devil carry away these
38idiots! How do you call the man? You know all the men of this part of the country. Who was he?" "Your clemency,
39Monseigneur! He was not of this part of the country. Of all the days of my life, I never saw him." "Swinging by the
40chain? To be suffocated?" "With your gracious permission, that was the wonder of it, Monseigneur. His head hanging
41over--like this!" He turned himself sideways to the carriage, and leaned back, with his face thrown up to the sky, and
42his head hanging down; then recovered himself, fumbled with his cap, and made a bow. "What was he like?" "Monseigneur,
43he was whiter than the miller. All covered with dust, white as a spectre, tall as a spectre!" The picture produced an
44immense sensation in the little crowd; but all eyes, without comparing notes with other eyes, looked at Monsieur the
45Marquis. Perhaps, to observe whether he had any spectre on his conscience. "Truly, you did well," said the Marquis,
46felicitously sensible that such vermin were not to ruffle him, "to see a thief accompanying my carriage, and not open
47that great mouth of yours. Bah! Put him aside, Monsieur Gabelle!" Monsieur Gabelle was the Postmaster, and some other
48taxing functionary united; he had come out with great obsequiousness to assist at this examination, and had held the
49examined by the drapery of his arm in an official manner. "Bah! Go aside!" said Monsieur Gabelle. "Lay hands on this
50stranger if he seeks to lodge in your village to-night, and be sure that his business is honest, Gabelle." "Monseigneur,
51I am flattered to devote myself to your orders." "Did he run away, fellow?--where is that Accursed?" The accursed was
52already under the carriage with some half-dozen particular friends, pointing out the chain with his blue cap. Some
53half-dozen other particular friends promptly hauled him out, and presented him breathless to Monsieur the Marquis. "Did
54the man run away, Dolt, when we stopped for the drag?" "Monseigneur, he precipitated himself over the hill-side, head
55first, as a person plunges into the river." "See to it, Gabelle. Go on!" The half-dozen who were peering at the chain
56were still among the wheels, like sheep; the wheels turned so suddenly that they were lucky to save their skins and
57bones; they had very little else to save, or they might not have been so fortunate. The burst with which the carriage
58started out of the village and up the rise beyond, was soon checked by the steepness of the hill. Gradually, it subsided
59to a foot pace, swinging and lumbering upward among the many sweet scents of a summer night. The postilions, with a
60thousand gossamer gnats circling about them in lieu of the Furies, quietly mended the points to the lashes of their
61whips; the valet walked by the horses; the courier was audible, trotting on ahead into the dull distance. At the
62steepest point of the hill there was a little burial-ground, with a Cross and a new large figure of Our Saviour on it;
63it was a poor figure in wood, done by some inexperienced rustic carver, but he had studied the figure from the life--his
64own life, maybe--for it was dreadfully spare and thin. To this distressful emblem of a great distress that had long been
65growing worse, and was not at its worst, a woman was kneeling. She turned her head as the carriage came up to her, rose
66quickly, and presented herself at the carriage-door. "It is you, Monseigneur! Monseigneur, a petition." With an
67exclamation of impatience, but with his unchangeable face, Monseigneur looked out. "How, then! What is it? Always
68petitions!" "Monseigneur. For the love of the great God! My husband, the forester." "What of your husband, the forester?
69Always the same with you people. He cannot pay something?" "He has paid all, Monseigneur. He is dead." "Well! He is
70quiet. Can I restore him to you?" "Alas, no, Monseigneur! But he lies yonder, under a little heap of poor grass."
71"Well?" "Monseigneur, there are so many little heaps of poor grass?" "Again, well?"
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