Chapter 4 two

Old Moprat was an ungrateful, brutal, bloodthirsty beast, somewhere between a lynx and a fox.He was eloquent and eloquent, relying on his good education, which helped his scheming.He feigned politeness and had no shortage of ways to deceive the object of his vengeance.He could lure them into his home, subject them to horrific treatment, and be unable to complain for lack of witnesses.There was a cunning and cunning in all his vices and vices, which the natives feared almost to the point of respect.It is by no means possible to catch him outside of his lair, though he comes out quite often, outwardly without much defense.This man has a genius for doing evil, and his sons lack the affection of true love. Under the threat of his arrogance and domineering, they bow to him and obey him.In all desperate situations, he was their savior.And when the boredom of seclusion began to hang over our cold vaults, he overcame it with a witty mind in his ferociousness, which charmed them with scenes that could only be seen in a thieves' lair.They used to terrorize and torture poor dervishes for their amusement: burn the beards of such monks, lower them down wells, and hang them between life and death, until they sang lascivious songs or uttered blasphemy Come.The local people all know the story of the secretary's palace. The Maupra family let him in with four bailiffs and received them warmly and attentively.My grandfather pretended to agree readily to the execution of their summons, and politely helped them to make an inventory of the furniture for which the auction had been ordered; and then, after the dinner was served, and the judiciary seated, Tristan said to the clerk:

"Why, my God, I forgot the poor lean horse and tied it up in the stable. It's no big deal; but you'll be blamed for losing it. You're a decent man, I see, and I don't want you to make any mistake. Wrong. Let me see, it will be a while." The clerk followed old Maupra unsuspectingly, and just as they entered the stables together, the old Maupra, who was walking in the lead, told the clerk that all he had to do was put his head in, and that the clerk tried his best to perform his duties. At the time, he was magnanimous and forbearing, without careful inspection.Then old Maupra flung open the door, and clamped the clerk's neck between the door and the wall, so that the unfortunate man could not breathe.Tristan thought that punishing the clerk's palace was enough, opened the door again, begged him politely to forgive his negligence, offered him his arm, and wanted to take him back to the dinner table, but the clerk thought it was inconvenient to refuse.However, as soon as he got back to the dining room where his colleagues were, he threw himself on a chair, showed them his pale face and pinched neck, and demanded that he be judged for having been set in an ambush.At this point, my grandfather unleashed his tricks of mischief in a comedy scene of uncanny audacity.He sharply reproached the clerk for falsely accusing him, still pretending to speak courteously, he called witnesses to his conduct, and begged their pardon, if his straitened circumstances did not allow him to receive them better, and to have the honor of giving them a more lavish feast. their words.The poor clerk didn't dare to insist any longer, so he had to eat, although he was half dead.Completely blinded by Maupra's plausibility, his colleagues ate and drank with glee, seeing the clerk as a lunatic and a disrespectful individual.When they came out of the Rock of Maupra, they were very drunk, and they all praised the castle master and taunted the palace of the secretary;

The eight lads were old Maupra's pride and strength, and they were all exactly like him in physical fitness, in cruelty of character, more or less shrewd and narrow-minded.It must be added that they are true rascals, capable of all kinds of evil, and utter idiots before lofty thoughts or good feelings; yet there is in them an impenetrable valor which often seems to me to have an appearance of majesty.Now it's my turn to talk about myself, and I'm going to tell about my spiritual growth in this filthy mire, and thank God for throwing me into it as soon as I was out of the cradle.

If, in order to win your sympathy, you were to recall to me the first days of my childhood, and I told you that I was born with a healthy body, a pure heart, and an incorruptible soul, I would be insincere.Sir, I know nothing about this.Maybe there is no incorruptible mind, maybe there is.Neither you nor anyone can ever figure it out.This is the big question that needs to be solved: "Are there insurmountable tendencies in us that can only be changed or eliminated by education?" Psychologists and philosophers; but I have had horrible experiences in my life, gentlemen; who have gone so far as to preach or write that the human organism is immutable, as cannot change a tiger's appetite, nor a man's character; Had I been a legislator, I might have had his tongue pulled out, or his arm cut off.God forbid I believe his word.

All I can say to you is that I have received from my mother beneficial basic knowledge, perhaps not born with her good qualities.In her house I was already very violent, a sombre concentrated violence, blind and wild in anger, full of doubts, timid when approached by danger, and madly bold when approached by danger, which is Said that because of the love of life, he is both timid and brave.I was recalcitrant and tenacious, and only my mother could subdue me; my intellect was so late that I obeyed her like magnetism, without much reasoning.It was only because of this only influence that I can remember so far, and by another woman's influence that I had since, that I have been going in a good direction.I lost my mother, however, before she could give me any serious instruction; and when I had settled in Maupra Rock, I had but an instinctive distaste, faint perhaps, for the vices there, if not Words mixed with fear.

However, I thank God from the bottom of my heart for the mistreatment I suffered there, especially for my Uncle John to harbor hatred against me.Misfortune does not make me indifferent to evil, and my pain prompts me to hate those who are notoriously evil. This John was, of course, the most detestable of his kind: since he had been crippled by the fall from his horse, his ferocity had grown all the more because he could not do as bad as his accomplices.He was forced to stay at home when the others set out to plunder, because he could not ride a horse, and he only had a little fun when the mounted police sometimes made small, meaningless raids on the castle to clear their conscience.John ordered the ashlar walls to be built to his own specifications, and he sat quietly behind his back, beside the cannon, wounding a gendarme from time to time, and, according to him, suddenly felt drowsy again, recovering what his idleness had lost him. appetite.Even when he could not wait for the attack to come, he climbed onto the platform he cherished; he crouched there like an ambush cat, and as soon as he saw a pedestrian appearing in the distance, without signaling, he quickly aimed and told the pedestrian to go halfway. turn back.He called it taking a broom on the road.

I was too young to hunt and plunder with my uncles, and John naturally became my caretaker and teacher, that is to say, my jailer and executioner.I won't tell you about this inhuman life in detail.For ten years or so I endured cold, hunger, insults, captivity, beatings, as the fiend's violent temper changed.His deep hatred for me stems from his inability to corrupt me; my rough, persistent, wild nature keeps me from his base temptations.Perhaps I do not have any power in me to tend to virtue, but I am blessed to have power to breed hatred.I'd rather die a thousand times than please my tyrant; I've grown up and have no taste for vice.However, I have very eccentric views of society, and the occupations of my uncles themselves did not excite me in any way distasteful.You think, growing up behind the walls of Mopra Rock, living under the siege for years, I had the same ideas as the second-gunner in feudal barbarism.Outside our lair, what others call killing, robbing, and torturing, the Maupras taught me to fight, win, and subdue.I know the tales and ballads of chivalry that are part of human history, which my grandfather told me in the evenings when he had time to think of my so-called education.I asked him a few questions about contemporary times, and he answered me that times have changed, that all Frenchmen have become traitors and traitors, that they feared the kings, and that the kings cowardly abandoned the nobility, and the nobility cowardly surrendered their privileges , let the common people make the laws.I listened with amazement, almost indignation, as he described the times in which I lived, times which I could not articulate.My grandfather was not good at chronicles: there are no books at Mopra Rock, except the stories of Aamon's sons and a few chronicles of the same kind, which our servants brought back from the local fair.From the clutter of my ignorant mind, only three names came up: Charlemagne, Louis XI, and Louis XIV, because my grandfather referred to them so often in his remarks on the neglected rights of the nobility.As for me, to tell the truth, I only know the difference between kingdoms and races; I can't believe that my grandfather never met Charlemagne, since he speaks more often and more willingly of this emperor than of anyone else. ① refers to "The Story of the Four Sons of Eamon", which was very popular in the 18th century.

Just when I instinctively admired my uncles' martial arts and had the desire to join them, I saw the ruthlessness they showed when they returned from fighting, and how they dragged the deceived people into their homes to blackmail and blackmail them. The sordidness of the torment, the agitation which aroused me in a strange discomfort, I now confess with all sincerity that it is difficult for me to express it.Lacking all moral principles, I am naturally content with the principle of the right of the strongest, and I have seen how it is put into practice; I can't get enough of that.I understand the rights of the bravest, and I have sincere contempt for those who could have died, but survived the disgrace at Mopra Rock.These are imposed on captives, women.I think the child's abuse and terror can only be explained by bloodthirsty.I don't know if I can accept the good feeling that produces pity for the victim; surely I feel this selfish pity that exists in nature, perfected and sublimated, into civilization kindness in the heart of man.Needless to say, at the sight of torture, my heart trembled with fear and loathing beneath the vulgar exterior, which I endured at every moment, following the whims of my oppressors; I grow pale at the sight of these horrific sights, and often say to me mockingly:

"If you don't obey, I will deal with you like this." I understand the dreadful uneasiness I feel at the face of these despicable acts; my blood congeals in my veins, my throat constricts, and I slip away, lest the cry ring repeatedly in my ears.As time went on, I kind of blamed myself for having these horrible impressions.My muscle fibers have become tougher, and over time I have developed strength that can cover up my so-called timidity.Ashamed of my cowardice, I tried to put on the vicious smile I had seen on the faces of my uncles.Every now and then a convulsive jerk passed through my limbs, and every time these disturbing scenes reappeared, a chill of death descended into my veins, and I could not suppress the jerk and chill.The half-pushing, half-dragging of women under the roof of the castle at Moprah Rock caused me unimaginable turmoil.I began to feel the fire of youth rousing within me, and to cast greedy glances at my uncles' plunder; but mingled with these nascent desires was an indescribable apprehension.To those around me, women are nothing but sluts; in vain I try to distinguish this perception from the merry-go-round idea of ​​teasing me.My mind was in a mess, my stimulated nerves were producing intense and morbid desires in all my senses.

Besides, my temper is as ill-bred as my companion's; and though my heart is not bad, my manners are wild, and my jests are not refined.The ferocity of my youth need not be mentioned here, since the consequences of this conduct had a greater influence on my later life.