Old man Milon

New Zealand Listener, Volume 3, Issue 56, 19 July 1940, Page 10

Old man Milon

by

Guy de

Maupassant

(Translated from the French and slightly abridged by

O. A.

GILLESPIE

OR a whole month the sun had drenched the fields with warmth, and under that deluge of life-giving heat everything had swiftly sprung to luxuriant growth; as far as the eye could see the earth was green. In the distance the farms of Normandy, scattered about the plain, resembled tiny woods, for each was enclosed in a girdle of stately beech trees. As one approached and opened the worm-eaten gate to one of these farms, it seemed like entering an enormous garden, for all the old apple trees, as gnarled as the peasants themselves, were in flower. Their ancient trunks, black and ‘twisted, held up to the cloudless sky domes of pink and white blossom whose sweet perfume mingled with the grosser smells from an open stable and a fermenting rubbish heap where fowls were scratching.

It was midday. The whole family, father, mother, their four children, two servant girls and three farm hands were all dining together in the shade of a pear tree in front of the door. Scarcely anyone spoke as they drank their soup and then uncovered a dish of stew containing plenty of potatoes and bacon. Now and again one of the girls went to the cellar to fill a pitcher with cider. The owner of the farm, a big strong fellow of forty years, was looking at a grape vine which twistéd like a serpent as it ran under the shutters along the wall of the house. Then, breaking the silence, he remarked:

"Father's grape vine is budding early this year. Perhaps we'll have a good crop." His wife turned

and gazed at the vine, without saying a word. That vine had been planted exactly where her father-in-law had been shot. *

|? happened during the war of 1870. Prussian soldiers occupied the whole countryside, though General Faidherbe, with the Northern Army, was still holding out against them. A German commander and his staff had established themselves at this farm, and the peasant who owned it, old man Milon, Pierre Milon, had received and installed them as best he could. For a month the German advance guard remained in the village. Ten leagues away the French remained stationary, but each night some of the German invaders disappeared. None of the scouts who went out on their rounds ever came back. Each morning some were found deadin a field, beyond the farm yard, or in a ditch. Their horses lay along the roads, their throats cut as though from the blow of a sabre.

These murders seemed to have been committed by the same man. The countryside was in terror. Peasants were shot on the slightest pretext; children were threatened fearfully. But nothing was discovered. Then, one morning, old man Milon was found lying in the stable his face disfigured by a deep

gash. Three kilometres away two disembowelled Uhlans were discovered, one of them still clutching a blood-stained sword. A council of war was immediately set up at the farm and the old peasant brought before it.

He was 68 years of age-small, thin, twisted a little, with great hands like the claws of a crab. His cranium shone through strands of dull hair, soft and fine as the down of a young duck. Thick veins stood out of the brown and wrinkled skin of his neck, disappeared under his jaws, and revealed themselves again on his temples. People of the district thought him avaricious, and difficult in his dealings with them. He was made to stand with four soldiers in front of the kitchen table which had been taken outside. Five officers and the colonel sat facing him; the Colonel spoke in French:

"Father Milon, since our arrival here you have always been agreeable and even helpful, but to-day a terrible accusation has been made against you. We must be enlightened. How did you receive that wound on your face?" The old peasant did not reply. "Your silence condemns you, Father Milon," said the Colonel. "You must answer me, do you understand? Do you know who killed the two Uhlans found this morning near the Calvary?" The old man’s voice came sharp and clear:

"TI did." The Colonel remained silent for a moment, glaring at his prisoner. Old man Milon never moved. He stood with downcast eyes, as though speaking to the village priest. One thing only revealed his emotion-he swallowed his saliva with difficulty, as though something clutched him by the throat. In the background stood his family-his son Jean, his daughter-in-law, his two grandchildren, fearful and afraid,

The Colonel again demanded: "Do you know who killed all the scouts of our army: those we have found every morning this month?" Without emotion the old man again replied: "TI did." "You killed them all?" "Yes, I killed them all." " Alone?" "Yes; alone" "Tell me how you did it." For the first time the old peasant showed some emotion. He was troubled by the necessity of speaking for any length of time; then he stammered: "JY did it-like that-as I found them."

The Colonel barked: "JT warn you that you must tell me everything. You'd better make up your mind. How did you begin?" Bewildered, the old man looked towards his family, hesitated a moment and then, with a rush of words, he began: : "I was coming home one eveningperhaps about 10 o’clock-two days after you got here-you, and worse than that -your soldiers. You took fifty crowns’ worth of my fodder and a cow and two sheep. . . I said to myself, ‘I'll have my revenge.’ There was something else which weighed on my heart. I'll tell you about that, too. I saw one of your soldiers sitting smoking on the edge of a ditch behind the granary. I unhooked my scythe and came up behind him, stealthily. He didn’t hear a thing. I cut his head off with one blow, only one, just like a sword swipe. All he said was ‘ouf." If you look in the pond you'll find him-jin a weighted coalsack, Then I had an idea. I took all his clothes, from his boots to his hat, and hid them in the lime kiln in Martin’s wood. . ." The old man became silent, then, at the officer’s order, he told them his story. «+ e * * His first murder accomplished, the old man lived with only one idea, "To kill the Prussians." He hated them with the bitter hatred of a patriotic peasant (Continued on next page)

(Continued from previous page) but, as he said, he had his idea, so he bided his time for a few days. The Germans permitted him to go about his farm as he wished, so long as he displayed a sense of humility towards them. By mixing with the soldiers he was able to learn certain German expressions which would be essential to him. The old man noticed that mounted messengers went out each evening, and one night he overheard the name of the village where the horsemen were to meet. : Quietly he left his yard and crept through the wood until he reached the lime kiln. There he recovered the dead man’s clothes, where he had hidden them, and exchanged them for his own. Then, with the stealth of a poacher, he roamed the countryside, following any banks so that he could conceal himself if necessary. When he thought the time was ripe, he regained the main road and hid in the undergrowth. Towards midnight he heard the sound of a horse galloping along the highway. The old man put his ear to the ground to assure himself that only a solitary horseman approached. Then he waited.

A Uhlan, carrying despatches, approached at a full trot but with eyes and ears alert. When he was within ten paces the old peasant threw himself across the road crying "Help! Help!" Recognising a fellow German, perhaps wounded, the unsuspicious Uhlan stopped and dismounted. Then, as he bent over the unknown figure, he received the length of a curved sabre blade full in the stomach. Radiant with a joy he could not express, the old peasant got up from the roadway, cut the throat of the corpse to give himself complete satisfaction, and threw it into a nearby ditch. Then he mounted his horse, which had waited quietly for its master, and galloped off across the fields. An hour later he came on two other Uhlans

riding side by side as they returned to their billets. He went straight for them, again crying for help. The Germans let him approach. He passed between them like a bullet, killing one with his sabre, the other with a revolver. Then he slit the throats of the horses-the German horses. Quietly the old man returned to the kiln, hid his horse in the dim gallery, changed into his own clothes and returned home, to sleep until morning. For four days after that Milon stayed at home, because of the inquiry which had begun. On the fifth evening, however, he went out again and killed two more soldiers, by the same ruse, From then on he never stopped. Each night he galloped about the deserted fieldsa lost Uhlan seeking victims, killing Prussians wherever he found them and leaving their corpses lying on the roads. Then, his task ended, he returned to the lime kiln to hide his horse and change his uniform. Towards midnight he always carried oats and water to his steed, on which he lavished food in plenty because of the heavy demands he asked in return, One night, however, one of the Uhlans he attacked was on his guard. The old man killed them both, but not before

one of them had slashed his face with a sword. He was able to hide his horse and change his clothes as usual, but as he dragged himself to the stable a fit of giddiness overcame him; he was too weak to reach the house. They found him there, still bleeding, lying on the straw. ..

N his story was ended, the old man raised his head, swiftly, and stared proudly at the Prussian officers. "You have nothing more to say?" demanded the Colonel, pulling at his moustache. "No, nothing more, It was a just reckoning. I killed sixteen of themnot one more, not one less." "You know that you are going to die?" "T haven’t asked for mercy." "Have you been a soldier?"

"Yes, in my time I took the field. But you killed my father-he was one of Napoleon’s men-and last month you killed my youngest son, Francis. I owed you this. I’ve paid. Now we're quits." The officers looked at each other as the old man continued: "Eight for my father; eight for my son. We’re quits. I didn’t seek a quarrel with you. I don’t know you. All I know is where you come from. You come to my house and behave as though it belonged to you. Now I've revenged myself and I don’t regret doing it." And straightening his twisted body, old man Milon folded his arms like a humble _ hero, The Prussians discussed the situation quietly among themselves; one of the

captains defending him. At last the Colonel rose and spoke to Milon in a low voice: "Listen, old man, perhaps there is a way of saving your life; and that is. . . But the old peasant did not listen. Instead he gazed steadfastly at the Prussian officer, the wind playing about his downy head. Suddenly his face twisted to a hideous grimace-that thin face cut about by the conqueror’s sword. Then, swelling his chest, he struck the Prussian full in the face. Maddened, the Colonel lifted his hand, but not before the old man had struck again, with all his force. All the officers staggered to their feet, yelling orders in confusion.

In less than a minute old man Milon, impassive as always, was thrust against the wall and shot; but in those last moments he smiled at Jean, his eldest son, and at his daughter-in-law, and their two children who looked on-hopeless and desperate. — THE END —