The Horseman on the Roof

by Jean Giono

  As soon as he heard anew some furtive sounds in the bushes, he halted and asked in a loud voice: “Is there anyone there?” There was no reply, but the springy carpet of pine needles crunched under footsteps. “Can I help somebody in there?” Angelo repeated, in a calm voice that must have sounded like music to the ears of people in trouble. The noise of footsteps ceased and, after a brief moment, a woman’s voice answered: “Yes, sir.” Angelo at once struck a light, and a woman emerged from the wood. She was holding two children by the hand. She screwed up her eyes to see who was behind the light of the flame that Angelo, without thinking, was holding close to his face, and drew nearer. She was young and dressed so elegantly for the place that she at first appeared unreal among these pine trunks, lit up by Angelo’s tinder. The children too seemed out of a fairy tale: a little boy of eleven or twelve in an Eton jacket and a tasseled cap, and a little girl of about the same age, whose long white lawn pantaloons emerged below her dress and covered her lacquered shoes with thick ruffles of lace.

  The young woman explained that she was the governess of the two children: they had all three come from Paris barely six days ago to the Château of Aubignosc, a week ahead of M. and Mme de Chambon, who were due to come by train and stop at Avignon; the latter must be at Avignon now, staying with their aunt, the Baroness de Montanari-Revest, without the slightest chance of reaching Aubignosc, since all the roads were blocked. She knew for a fact that the cholera was extremely violent around Venaissin, and that no one was allowed through. She had first thought she could keep the children safe at Aubignosc, which is a tiny village. But it had suddenly been swept by the epidemic, which, in a two days’ fury, had not left ten persons alive. So she had set out with the children in the hope of getting to Avignon by way of Aix-en-Provence, where, it was said, things were not yet very bad. She had had the idea, since transport was lacking—“we came by the diligence and it isn’t running any more”—to get to Château-Arnoux, only a league away through the woods, and there hire a cabriolet to take them down the valley of the Durance. But yesterday evening, around six, when they reached Château-Arnoux, they had been stopped at the barriers and turned back into the woods, along with about twenty other people from various places who were also trying to get to Aix. A gentleman from Lyon who happened to be there, fresh from Sisteron, where he had been supplying the hardware shops with tin saucepans, had been kind to her, and given her two slabs of chocolate and a small bottle of peppermint alcohol. He was a witty little man, very enterprising and with excellent judgment. With this gentleman and two other ladies they had tried to skirt round Château-Arnoux. On the hillside the saucepan dealer had fallen ill, the other two ladies had fled like lunatics, but she had had the luck, since the little boy was a good woodsman, to find the road once more. They had all three sat down by the roadside to wait for day. When they heard the horse coming, they had thought it must be a patrol of those Château-Arnoux people who had threatened to shut them up in quarantine, and when Angelo came abreast of them, they were withdrawing into the pine woods to hide.

  Angelo asked a lot of questions, where the barriers were placed and what they were barring. He was indignant at the inhumanity of these people turning back women and children into the woods. The reference to quarantine had made him prick up his ears. “Here’s another complication I don’t like at all,” he thought; “I’m in no hurry to be locked up in some stable full of dung. Fear can do anything; it makes people merciless killers: watch out! You won’t get out of this as easily as you did with the convict and his barricade of barrels. What a pity I’ve only two rounds left, and that I have no saber; I’d show them that generosity can be more redoubtable than cholera.” He was deeply moved by the faces of these three lost people as seen by the light of his tinderbox.

  He questioned the little boy, who seemed quite sure he knew the way to get round the barriers.

  “Very well, then,” said Angelo, “we’ll go through the wood, which you say is not very deep. Once through it, we’ll put the two young ladies on my horse; he’s very gentle, and I’ll lead him by the bridle. We’ll go the way you say. I am heading for Aix myself, and I’ll help you until you’re out of trouble. Don’t worry,” he added, “I’m a colonel of Hussars, and we’ll do all right.” He felt they needed to be given self-confidence and reassured about the vulgar and base appearance he believed he had: to which end he judiciously fancied the declaration of his rank might serve. He forgot that the night was covering him and that they could only hear his very kindly voice.

  They left the road and cut through the wood. On emerging from the wood, Angelo set the young woman and the little girl on the horse and they began to pick their way over rocky hills where there was a little more light than at the bottom of the valley.

  The little boy marched very pluckily at Angelo’s side and was never in doubt about the direction to take. The young woman had a watch. It was three in the morning.

  Daybreak began around four. It illuminated a vast, undulating wilderness. “All the better,” said Angelo. “Here we can walk in peace. Besides, the main road must be on our left, in that sort of gully full of slumbering mists. Let’s not worry, but push ahead. The most important thing now is to find a farm where the four of us can get something to eat.” And he very solemnly congratulated the little boy; he knew that they are braver and bolder than men as soon as they are taken seriously. He wanted him to be able to go on marching gallantly. Besides, Angelo had taken a great fancy to him, and there was every reason to congratulate him; all night long he had proved an unerring guide.

  Nevertheless, Angelo, with three days’ growth of beard, his face all streaked with runnels of dried sweat and his shirt torn by brambles, did not seem to inspire great confidence in his companions. He noticed this when he met the green eyes of the young woman. Luckily, he had very handsome summer boots, of fine supple leather even though they were varnished, and so well-fitting that it was impossible to believe he had stolen them. “That’s precisely why I paid Giuseppe a hundred francs for them,” he thought; “I need a passport that I can use. Yet I can’t push them into her face.” He tried to talk about them, but all he managed to do was to convince the young woman that he was vexed at spoiling such fine boots on the cutting stones of the hills, and she proposed right away to give him back his horse.

  “I’m an idiot,” he said. “Sit quietly where you are. I was trying to give you good reasons for believing that I’m as decent a fellow as your saucepan dealer. I always overdo it. You’d have learned quickly enough, without my boots, that my one idea is to help you, and you’d have been the first to laugh at the anxiety I saw in your eyes just now when you observed my miserable getup. What makes me so clumsy is that I always want to please people absolutely. Nine times out of ten, that makes them take me for what I’m not. I really am a colonel; that’s not a joke. Only, like you, for three days I’ve been trying to get out of this infernal countryside, full of cowards and heroes, each more terrible than the other. And I’ve been through some very nasty moments.”

  The young woman, who happened to have fine green eyes, smiled and said that she wasn’t afraid. It was evident that she did not believe the part about the colonel. Her smile, which was indeed charming, said that she had better things to do than dispute its truth, and like a Madonna she clasped the sleeping body of the little girl to her.

  The sun was completely up when they perceived, nestling in the folds of a small valley, a farm close by three terraces of olives and a big field of lucerne.

  Angelo halted his party under an ilex. The little girl was sleeping so deeply that she barely opened her eyes when she was lifted down from the horse and laid on the ground.

  “Here’s the first house with a smoking chimney,” said Angelo; “we’re in luck. You stay here; I’ll go down and ask for something to eat at a good price. Don’t worry about anything; I’ve got money.”

  The house was closed; even barricaded, it seemed; but for the smoke rising from the chimney one might have th
ought it deserted. Angelo called. A window opened and a man appeared, pointing a shotgun. “On your way,” he said.

  “I’m certainly not ill,” said Angelo, “and I’ve got a woman and two children up there under that tree, you can see them from here. They haven’t eaten for two days. Sell me a little bread and cheese; I’ll pay whatever you want.”

  “I’ve nothing to sell,” said the man; “you’re not the only one with a wife and children. On your way, and make it fast.…”

  “He won’t shoot,” thought Angelo, and he advanced coolly. The man took aim. Angelo continued to advance. He was blissfully happy. At length he leaped forward and gained the cover of the porch. “Be sensible,” he said, “you see how determined I am. I can easily smash your lock with one shot of my pistol. Afterwards we’d fight it out inside, where you’d have as good a chance as I, but no better. Throw me down a loaf and four goat cheeses. I’ll pay you twenty francs; I’ll slip it under the door. Gold never gets sick, but, if you’re afraid, pick the coin up with some tongs and throw it into a glass of vinegar. You’re in absolutely no danger. But be quick about it. I’ll stop at nothing.”

  “Get out of there,” said the man. Angelo clicked the hammer of his pistol. “Wait,” said the man. After a few moments, he threw down onto the grass a loaf and four cheeses. “There’s a crack near the lock,” he said, “slip your coin through that and let’s hear it fall inside.” Angelo obeyed, and the coin rang on the flagstones. “I didn’t hear anything,” said the man.

  “I’m not stingy,” said Angelo, “I’ll put another through: listen carefully.” He slipped another coin through. “I didn’t hear anything,” said the man.

  “Wait till you hear this,” said Angelo, and he fired his pistol in the air, aiming at the window sill. The man slammed the shutters. Angelo picked up the bread and cheeses and climbed back to the ilex, forbidding himself to run.

  * * *

  After eating, they found a track that brought them fairly soon to the main road. “I fully realize,” said the young woman, “that the wisest thing would be to walk on over the hills, but we must have covered at least five leagues and these children will die of fatigue. It would also be folly to suppose that we can go on like this as far as Avignon. We can’t be far from Peyruis. There’s a gendarmerie there. I shall explain my case; Monsieur de Chambon is well known; we are not ill, they’ll certainly make out a paper for us and help me find a cabriolet. I can’t continue to take chances with these children, who are in my charge.” Angelo found the decision a reasonable one. “But don’t let this prevent you from looking after yourself,” the young woman went on. “The situation is quite different for a single man, resolute and on horseback. Leave us here, we can reach Peyruis by ourselves; it’s only half a league, if it’s that much.” She was evidently very glad to be on the main road, and she wound up very clumsily: “You’ve pulled us through even better than I hoped. Monsieur de Chambon would certainly thank you very heartily if only he might know your name.”

  “I shan’t leave you until I know you are in safe hands,” said Angelo severely. “I have something to say to the gendarmes myself.”

  “So you think I’m afraid of them!” he said under his breath. “You really are a Parisian!”

  They soon reached the barriers, which were guarded by gendarmes, who were very friendly and smelled of wine. The name of M. de Chambon worked wonders. They even promised to requisition a cabriolet. Angelo stated that he came from Banon. The gendarmes, who were experienced and observant, were impressed by his boots. They treated him diplomatically. He described a brush with some brigands to explain the loss of his saddlebag, coat, and hat.

  “We can’t be everywhere at once,” said these guardians of order, who furthermore had their tunics unbuttoned, “and you’ve been lucky; some people lost much more. Some of the convicts they released at Sisteron to bury the dead have skipped, and not to Mass either. As for papers, you’re sure to get them. You all look very fit. But you’ll have to spend three days in quarantine here, it’s the rule. We’ll have you taken to a barn, over there, off the road; it’s used just for that; it’s not bad there, and you’ll have company. There’s about thirty waiting there now. Three days isn’t a lifetime.”

  They were taken to the barn, which was full of people of every age and condition, seated sadly on trunks or up against baskets, bags, and bundles. The gendarmes led away the horse. They were friendly but cautious.

  “I don’t much like what is happening to us,” said Angelo.

  “What else can one do?” said the young woman. “They’ve promised me a cabriolet, I shall wait for it. But I’m concerned about you. You should already be well on your way.”

  “Perhaps it’s better I should be near you,” said Angelo. “In any case, come, let’s find a corner to ourselves.”

  The sentry returned, accompanied by a fat man in a blue apron. He took a firm stand, and craned his neck so as to see everybody. “Those that want to eat,” he said, “orders, now, please.”

  “What is there to eat?” said Angelo, coming over to him.

  “Whatever you want, Baron,” said the fat man.

  “Two roast chickens?” said Angelo.

  “Why not?” said the man.

  “All right,” said Angelo, “two roast chickens, some bread, and two bottles of wine; and buy me twenty cigars like this one.”

  “Give me the money,” said the man.

  “How much?” said Angelo.

  “Thirty francs for you,” said the man, “because you’re so good-looking.”

  “You haven’t lost your business sense,” said Angelo.

  “Nobody else has, either,” said the man; “so I may as well keep mine. It’ll be three francs more for the cigars. Have you got something for me to pack your stuff in?”

  “No,” said Angelo, “wrap it all in a cloth and put in a knife.”

  “One écu for the cloth and one for the knife.”

  Angelo was the only one who ordered something to eat. Everyone watched him with a mixture of curiosity and dread. An old gentleman, with a very pretty little white goatee and a severe expression, said to him: “You are causing everyone the gravest risk by your imprudence, young man. You are going to have a cloth brought in from the village, where there are doubtless cases of sickness. All one should allow oneself to eat in times like these is boiled eggs.”

  “I don’t trust boiled water,” said Angelo, “and where you go wrong, you and all the others who are staring at me so wide-eyed, is in not living as usual. For three days I’ve been dying of hunger. If I faint from malnutrition you’ll think I’ve got cholera and, out of pure terror, you’ll pop off like flies.”

  “I am not afraid, sir,” said the goatee; “I’ve shown my mettle.”

  “Keep it up,” said Angelo. “One can never show enough of it.”

  He ate his chicken, and was very glad to see the young woman and the children eat the other without apprehension. They drank some wine. To reassure everyone, Angelo threw the cloth out of a window. He went to give the sentry a cigar and remained on the doorstep smoking his own.

  He had been there for a quarter of an hour, rather dazzled by the light of the great white sun, when he heard a commotion in the barn. People were precipitately drawing back from a woman stretched out on the straw. He went up to the poor creature; her teeth were chattering, and she had a great blue patch on her cheek.

  “Has anyone any alcohol?” said Angelo; “any eau de vie?” he repeated, looking around at them all. At last a peasant woman produced a bottle from her basket. But she did not hand it to him. She placed it on the ground, moved some way off, and said: “Take it.”

  The sick woman was young, with very beautiful hair and a milky neck. “Is there a brave woman present,” said Angelo, “to come and undo her linen, unhook her bodice and stays? I don’t know how to.”

  “Cut the laces,” said someone. A woman began laughing nervously. Angelo went back to the sentry.

  “Get away fr
om the door,” he told him, “there’s a woman taken ill. I’ve got to get her out and lay her in the sun to warm her and prevent this sorry lot from dying of fear. I’ll undertake to look after her by myself. Anyway, I’ll do what I can, unless there’s a doctor in the village.”

  “You don’t really think there’d be a doctor in the village?” said the sentry.

  “Very well, I’ll do all I can,” said Angelo. “Stand over there, if you’re afraid they’ll escape. But you could catch the lot of them under a hat.”

  “Now look here,” he said, going into the barn again, “I must have someone to help me carry this woman outside, a man or a woman. Or a child, if everybody else feels too grand,” he added with a short, severe laugh.

  “Don’t involve the children in this sad business,” said the little white goatee. “Genus irritabile vatum … I’ll help you!”

  They carried the young woman outside on a bed of straw. The old gentleman undressed her with great skill, and even managed to remove her stays without handling her too violently, a difficult feat, for she kept tossing her head and arms. During this operation she brought up a little of that familiar rice pudding, but Angelo cleaned her mouth and forced her to drink. The young woman’s thighs, although icy and marbled with thick purple streaks, were plump and satiny. She kept fouling herself below, without stopping. The sentry had turned away and was gazing at the torrid hills where the heat was refracted in the steam off the grass as though on a prism. There was loud talk in the barn, with bursts of nervous laughter. At the end of two hours the young woman died. Angelo sat down beside her. So did the old gentleman. From the village came solitary cries and long, almost peaceful moans, which appeared black in the fierce sunlight.

  “If Paris had seen Helen’s skin as it really was,” said the old gentleman, “he would have observed an irregular, rough, gray-yellow network, composed of disordered meshes each containing a bristle rather like a hare’s: he would never have fallen in love with Helen. Nature is a grand opera whose scenery is an optical illusion.”