Chapter 16 Chapter Three: The Massacre of St. Bartholomew

The children wake up. The first to wake up was the little girl. A child wakes up like a flower blooming, and a fresh soul seems to be fragrant. Jorgete, who is only one year and eight months old, is the youngest, and she was still breastfeeding in May.Now she raised her little head, sat up, looked at her feet, and babbled. A ray of morning light fell on her cradle, and it was hard to tell whether it was her little feet or the dawn that was pink. The other two children were still asleep.Men sleep like hell.Jorget babbled happily and calmly. René-Jean had brown hair, Alain the Fat had brown hair, Jorget had blond hair.The different colors are related to the age of the child and will change as they grow up.René-Jean fell asleep bending over his eyes with his hands under his head like a little Hercules.

Fat Alan's legs stretched out of the crib. All three children were in rags.The clothes that the Red Beanie Battalion had given them were in tatters.They didn't even have shirts on, the boys were almost naked, and Gilget was wrapped in shreds of old skirts.Who takes care of these children?have no idea.They have no mother.Savage peasant warriors lead them from forest to forest, give them soup, and that's all.The children survived just barely.Everyone is their master and no one is their father.The children in tattered clothes are immersed in the brilliance, very cute. Jorgete babbled.

Children babbling like birds singing.It's the same carol.Vague, ambiguous, profound odes. The child has one more thing than the bird, and that is the dark fate he faces.So grown-ups feel sad when they listen to the joyful singing of children.The loftiest hymn in the world is the babble of the human heart on the lips of a child.This vague whisper comes from the instinctive state of mind, and it contains some subconscious call to eternal justice.Perhaps it was a protest, a heartbreakingly humble protest, before entering the world.The ignorant child smiles at the infinite universe, the future fate of this helpless creature endangers all creation.If something unfortunate happened, it would be a betrayal of trust.

Children's babbling is larger than words and smaller than words.It's not notes, but it's song; it's not syllables, but it's language.The murmur begins in heaven and never stops on earth.It started before birth, it goes on, it goes on.It contains what the child said when he was an ambassador, and what the child will say when he is an adult.The cradle has a yesterday as the grave has a tomorrow.The double unknown of this tomorrow and this yesterday is mixed in babbling.Nothing exemplifies the duality of God, Eternity, Duty, and Destiny more than the giant shadow in this pink heart.

Jorget's whispers did not make her sad, and there was a smile on her beautiful face.Her mouth was smiling, her eyes were smiling, and so were the dimples on her cheeks.The smile reveals the mysterious promise of morning light.Spiritual faith shines.The sky is blue and the weather is warm and sunny.This frail girl, who knows nothing, knows nothing, understands nothing, idly sinks in dreams that are not thoughts, feels safe because she is surrounded by nature, trees of integrity, honest The green grass, the pure and peaceful fields, the sound of birds, springs, insects, and leaves, all bathed in the innocent sunshine.

After Jorgette, the oldest child, four-year-old René-Jean, also woke up.He stood up, stepped out of the cradle manly, saw the pot of soup, sat down on the ground and ate without any surprise. Gillette's babbling did not wake up Fat Alan, but the sound of the wooden spoon hitting the soup bowl made him suddenly turn over. He opened his eyes.The three-year-old saw his soup bowl, he reached for it with his hand, and instead of stepping out of the cot, he took it and put it on his lap, holding the wooden spoon in one hand, like René-Jean. They ate the same. Jorgette didn't hear them, her voice was up and down, as if a dream was swaying gently.She opened her coat and looked up, magical eyes, for whether the child's head was a ceiling or a vault, her eyes reflected the sky.

René-Jean, after eating, scraped the bottom of the basin with a spoon, and said solemnly: "I'm done eating." Jorgete woke up from the dream and said: "baby." Seeing that René-Jean had finished eating and that Fat Alain was eating, she picked up the soup bowl beside her and began to eat, often bringing the wooden spoon to her ear instead of her mouth. Sometimes she forsakes civilization and eats with her hands. After Fat Alan shaved his pelvic floor like his brother, he went to his brother and ran after him. Suddenly, from outside the window, from below, from the direction of the forest, there was a bugle, a high and severe military music.Then, a horn sounded from the top of the tower to answer it.

This time it was the bugle calling and the trumpet answering. A second bugle sounded, causing a second trumpet. Then, from the edge of the forest came a distant but precise voice, very clearly: "Bandits! I warn you. If you do not surrender by sunset, we will attack." A thunderous voice on the top platform of the tower answered: "Go ahead and attack." "Half an hour before the attack we fired the cannon as a final warning." The voice from the top of the tower said again: "Go ahead and attack." The words did not reach the children, but the bugles and trumpets carried farther and higher.Jorget raised his head when he heard the first bugle, stopped drinking soup, put his spoon in the soup basin when he heard the trumpet, and raised his little index finger of his right hand to the bugle when he heard the second bugle The rhythm stretches and shrinks, and then stretches and shrinks with the sound of the trumpet.When these voices disappeared, she still raised her index finger and whispered thoughtfully, "Lele."

She probably meant to say "music". The two brothers, René-Jean and Fat Alain, did not notice the bugles and trumpets, they were absorbed in something else: a mouse woman was passing through the library. Fat Alan saw it and exclaimed: "insect." René-Jean hurried over. Fat Alan said again: "It pricks." "Don't hurt it," said René-Jean. So the two began to observe the rat woman. Jorgete finished her soup and looked around for her brother.René-Jean and Fat Alain were squatting at the window, looking at the mouse woman gravely.Heads together, hair tangled, they held their breath, watching the bug in admiration, and the bug stopped motionless, flattered.

Jorgette saw his brothers staring at him, wondering what they were looking at.It was not easy to get to them, but she tried anyway.The road was rough: stuff all over the floor, overturned stools, piles of papers, unpacked and emptied packing boxes, big boxes, and in general piles of rocks around which to walk.Jorget bravely got out of the cradle, this was the first step, then entered the reef area, walked forward in the strait, pushed away the stool, climbed between the two boxes, and climbed over a stack of documents, Half crawling and half rolling, the soft little body is completely exposed.In this way she came to what sailors call the free sea, that is, a fairly large area free from obstacles and dangers, and crawling like a cat, she rushed across the space as wide as the library and approached the window.There is a terrible obstacle here, that is, the long ladder placed along the wall, one end of which slightly covers a corner of the window, so Jorget has to go around the promontory to reach his brother.She paused, thoughtful, monologue, and then made a decision.She held out two pink fingers to the rungs of the ladder, which was laid horizontally so that the rungs were not horizontal but vertical.She tried to stand up, but fell down, she tried twice, but was unsuccessful, but the third time she finally got her wish, stood upright, holding on to the ladder poles, walked forward along the ladder, reached At the end, she lost her support and staggered a little, but she held the gigantic head with her small hands, stood upright again, rounded the corner, looked at René-Jean and Fat Alain, and laughed.

At this moment René-Jean, satisfied with his observation, raised his head and said: "It's a female." Jorge smiled, and René-Jean laughed too; René-Jean smiled, and Fat Alain laughed too. Ruoer Rechi reunited with his brothers.They sat in a small circle on the ground. However, the bug has disappeared. When Gilbonte laughed, it took the opportunity to slip into the hole in the floor. After the worm something else happened. The first is the swallow. The swallows had probably built their nests under the eaves, and they flew very close to the window, perhaps a little disturbed by these youngsters. The swallows circled in the air and chirped softly for spring.The three children looked up at the swallow and forgot about the little worm. Georgette pointed at the swallow and said loudly, "Eggy!" René-Jean said reproachfully: "It's not an egg, miss, it's a bird." "Gulls." Jorget said. So all three looked at Swallow. Then another bee flew in. The bee is most similar to the mind.A bee flies from one flower to another, just as the soul flies from one star to another; the bee collects honey, and the soul collects light. The bee buzzed loudly into the room, as if to say, "Here I am, I have just visited the roses, and now I am visiting the children. How is it here?" The bee is the housewife, and she sings and reproaches. The three children stared at the bee intently. The bees survey the entire library, search every corner, fly around as if in their own hive, swing briskly and rhythmically from one bookcase to another, and look at the books inside the glass door, as if thinking. After the visit, the bee flies away. "It's coming home," said René-Jean. "It's a bug," said Fat Alan. "No," said René-Jean, "it's a flying insect." "Bugs." Jorgette said. Fat Alan had just lifted a length of string on the ground with a knot at the end, and he held the other end of the string between his thumb and forefinger, turning it like a windmill, and watched it spin with all his attention. Jorget became a quadruped again, crawling around on the floor at will.She found an old velvet easy chair riddled with tiny moth-eaten holes exposing the horsehair inside.She stopped in front of this chair, digging holes with her hands, and pulled the horse's mane intently. Suddenly she raised her finger, as if to say; "Listen." The two brothers turned their heads. There were distant and indistinct noises outside the window, which may be the attackers making strategic deployments in the forest.The neighing of horses, the sound of drums, the rolling of ammunition carts, the clashing of iron chains, and the echoing military bells, these hazy and rough sounds are intertwined but seem harmonious.The children listened fascinated. "It is the voice of God," René-Jean said. The sound stopped. René-Jean was still dreaming. How are thoughts disassembled and reassembled in these little brains?How do these still vague and ephemeral memories work?In the tender little head, contemplating God, prayer, clasped hands, and the gentle smile that was once enjoyed but now gone, René-Jean whispered: "Mother." "Mom," said Fat Alan. "Mom." Jorget said. Then René-Jean began to dance and play. Sheng Alan followed suit. Fat Alan imitated René-Jean's every move, but Jorge did not imitate much.Three-year-olds imitate four-year-olds, but one-year-olds and eight-month-olds retain their independence. Jorgete was still sitting, uttering a word from time to time, without any long speeches. She was the brooder, speaking aphoristically, using monosyllabic words. Soon, however, she was attracted by example, and imitated her brothers, and the three pairs of little bare feet stood on the old, dusty floor of smooth oak, under the solemn gaze of the marble bust. They danced and ran up and down.Jorge glanced at the bust uneasily while holding it, and said in a low voice, "Momo." In Jorget's language, "momo" refers to everything that looks like a human but is not human.In the eyes of children, people and ghosts are indistinguishable. Jorgette followed behind his brother, staggering step by step, but most of them were crawling on the ground. René-Jean approached the window and raised his head, then lowered his head and ran to hide in the corner by the window.He had just seen someone watching him.Here was a blue-uniformed soldier from the highland camp, who took advantage of the truce--and slightly violated the truce--to reach the steep slope of the trench, from which the interior of the library could be seen.When Fat Alain saw René-Jean hiding, he squatted down like him.Jorge Te also came to hide behind them.They quietly. Staying there motionless, Jorget put his finger on his lips.After a while, René-Jean ventured to look up, but the soldier was still there, and he quickly turned his head back.The three children didn't even dare to breathe out, and it took a long time like this.Finally, Jorget, tired of fear, ventured to probe.The soldiers had gone, so they ran and played again. Although Fat Alain is an imitator and admirer of René-Jean, he has one specialty, that is, he is good at discovering new things. The elder brother and younger sister suddenly saw him alive and kicking, pulling a four-wheeled cart that they did not know where to find. The toy car has been left in the dust for years, next to the books of geniuses and the busts of wise men.Govan may have played with it when he was a child. Fat Alan brandished the string like a whip.He is very proud.The same is true of inventors.Discovering America is the same as discovering a car. But it should be a blessing to share.So René-Jean acted as the cart-horse, and Jorget wanted to ride. She tried to sit on it.René-Jean is the horse, and Fat Alan is the coachman, but he can't drive the cart and obeys the command of the horse. René-Jean called to Fat Alain: "You said: Huh!" "Woo!" Fat Alan said imitatively. The cart overturned and Jorgete rolled to the ground.The three babies yelled.Georgette was also shouting. Then she wanted to cry. "Mademoiselle," said René-Jean, "you are so old." "I'm old." Jorget said. Thinking about it this way, she no longer felt sad for falling. The overhanging cornices below the windows were wide, and the dust from the heathlands had piled up on them, turning to mud when the rains watered them.The wind brought seeds again, and in the thin soil grew raspberries—a perennial called fox mulberry.It was August at this time, and the vines were full of black grapes. A branch came in through the window, and the end almost fell to the ground. First Fat Alan found the string, then the cart, and now the raspberry.He came over. He picked a blackberry and ate it. "I'm hungry," said René-Jean. Using both hands and feet, Jorget quickly crawled to René-Jean's side. So the three children wiped all the blackberries off the branches.They ate happily, their faces were covered with bright red raspberry juice, and the little angel became a little faun. Dante would be surprised to see them, and Virgil would be fascinated by them.They were laughing. Sometimes their hands are pricked by thorns, and what they gain they lose. Jorget held out his finger to René-jean, there was a small drop of blood on it.She pointed to the raspberries and said: "prick." Fat Alan was also stabbed, looked at Shulian suspiciously and said: "It's a bug." "No," said René-Jean, "the roots." "Bad stick," said Fat Alan. Jorge Te wanted to cry again this time, but laughed instead. René-Jean, perhaps jealous of what his younger brother Fat Alain has discovered, is hatching a big plan.When he was not afraid to pick blackberries just now, he repeatedly looked at the single-legged slanted bookshelf standing alone like a monumental building in the middle of the books, on which the famous "St. Bartholomew" was placed. It is a rare and fine quarto book, published in Cologne by the famous publisher of the 1682 edition of the Bible, Braemave - called Sechus in Latin.It was printed by machine and tendon, and the text was not printed on Dutch paper, but on the fine Arabic paper that Edrisi admired, which is half silk and half cotton, always white as new, plus Gold leather cover, silver clasps, linings of parchment—the kind of parchment that can only be found in the Saint-Tiran Hall in Paris, and can’t be bought anywhere else.There are many woodcuts, copper engravings, and geographical pictures of many countries, and on the title page are protests by printers, paper dealers, and booksellers against the edict of 1635, which stipulated that "leather, beer, forked-hoofed animals , sea fish and paper” taxation.On the reverse of the title page is a dedication to the family of Grieves, who is to Lyon what Elzefel is to Amsterdam.That is why the book is so famous that it is almost as rare as the Moscow Apostol. ① Arab geographer in the twelfth century, who wrote a lot. ②The famous printer family in Lyon in the sixteenth century. ③ Famous printing and publisher families in the Netherlands in the 16th and 17th centuries. ④The leader of Eastern Ukraine in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The book was beautiful, so René-Jean stared at it, perhaps too long.The book was open, and there happened to be a large engraving of St. Bartholomew, holding the flayed skin on his arm.The painting can be seen from below.After the raspberries were eaten, René-Jean looked at the painting with terrible admiration, Gilget followed his brother's gaze, saw the painting, and said, "Drawing." This question seemed to make up René-Jean's mind, and he did an unusual thing that surprised Fat Alain. In one corner of the library was a large oak chair.René-Jean went over, grabbed the chair, dragged it alone to the bookcase, leaned against it, and Chiné-Jean climbed up on the chair and put his hands on the book. Since he stood tall here, he felt that he should show off, so he grabbed the corner of the "painting" and carefully tore it off.The pages were torn at a bevel, but René-Jean was not to blame.Therefore, the left half of the old preacher of the false Gospel, St. Bartholomew, including one eye and a little halo, remained on the book, while the half and all the skin was given to Jorgette.Jorget took the saint and said, "Demon." "And me?" cried Fat Alan. Tearing off the first page is like shedding the first blood.The killing begins. René-Jean turned a page.After the saint came the critic Panthenis.René-Jean awarded Panthenis to Fat Alain. At this time, Jorgete tore the painting in his hand into two small pieces, and then tore the two small pieces into four small pieces.Historians can say that St. Bartholomew was skinned in Armenia and then quartered in Brittany. The dismemberment is over.Jorget stretched out his hand to René-Jean again and said, "More." After the saints and critics are the pitiful portraits of the commentators.First up is Gavantes.René-Jean tore him out and put him in Jorget's hands. All the commentators of St. Bartholomew were treated in this way. Giving is an advantage in itself.René - Allow yourself to want nothing.It was enough to get the appreciation of Fat Alan and Jorgete, and he felt satisfied. René-Jean continued to give generously and unceasingly.Fabrizio Pinnatelli to Fat Alain, Abbe Stirtin to Jorge, Alphonse Tosta to Fat Alain, Cornay de Lapierre gave Jean-Ponte, Henry Harmon to Fat Alain, Abbe Roberti to Georgette, plus a picture of Douai, where the abbe was born in 1619, and the paper dealer. Their protest was given to Fat Alan, and their dedication to the Griff family was given to Jorgette.There are also maps.René-Jean also distributed maps, giving Ethiopia to Fat Alain, and Lycaonia to Jorgette.After dividing, he planned to throw the book on the ground. These are scary times.Fat Alain and Jorge continued to look at René-Jean, half delighted and half surprised.He frowned, stood up and controlled his fists, and pushed the large quarto book off the shelf.It is really sad that a book with awe-inspiring dignity should be demolished.The heavy book lost its balance, hung there, wobbled indecisively, then fell, broke, crumpled, torn, the cover unraveled, the clasp came off, and lay wretchedly flat on the ground, Luckily it didn't hit the kids. They were not discouraged, but watched with relish.Not all conquistador campaigns ended like this. Like the famous family, the fall of the book caused a loud noise and a cloud of dust. René-Jean got down from the chair after dropping the book. There was a moment of silence and terror, as victory engenders fear.The three children stood in the distance hand in hand, looking at the big torn book. Fat Alan thought for a moment, then quickly walked over and kicked the book. The book is finished, but the desire to destroy remains.René-Jean kicked, Jorgechi kicked, and fell down on the ground; she took the opportunity to throw herself at Saint Bartholomew.Prestige is gone.René-Jean also rushed over, and Sheng Alain rushed forward.And so the three happy, jovial, triumphant children tore, mercilessly: the pictures, the pages, the tapes, the bindings, the gold covers, the silver studs, the parchments were torn, torn, pulled out. fell, and the solemn book was torn to shreds; they kicked, tore, dug with their nails, bit with their teeth; and the three little pink ambassadors, laughing and flinging ferociously upon the defenseless evangelist on the soldier. They wiped out Armenia, Judea, and Benevento who kept the relics of the holy sign, and Nathanael, who may have been the same person as Bartholomew, and who declared the Bartholomew-Nathanael Gospel to be false. By Pope Géraz, exterminated all illustrations and all maps.They executed the ancient book so intently and mercilessly that a mouse ran past them without attracting their attention. This is total annihilation. To shatter History, Legend, Knowledge, Miracles, True or False, Church Latin, Superstition, Fanaticism, Mystery, Tear whole Religions from top to bottom, for three giants, for three children , is not an easy task.Time passed little by little, and they were finally finished.St. Bartholomew is gone. It was all over, the last page of the book was torn out, the last painting was thrown on the ground, and all that was left were wreckage and scattered words and illustrations. Paper clapped hands. Fat Alan also clapped his hands. Jorget lifted a piece of paper from the ground, stood up, leaned against the window at her chin height, and tore the paper into pieces. René-Jean and Fat Alain imitated her when they saw her doing this.They pick up the paper, tear it up, pick up the paper again, and tear it up again, standing at the window like Jorget.And so the whole ancient book crumbles to pieces in these restless little hands, and is thrown into the air.Jorget watched the batches of small white papers scattered in the air thoughtfully, and said: "Butterfly." The scrap of paper disappeared into the blue sky, ending the killing. St. Bartholomew was martyred in AD 49, and this was the second time he was executed. As dusk came, the heat increased, the air made one fall asleep, Gilgerette's eyes became blurred, René-Jean went to his cradle, pulled the straw bag that served as a mattress, pulled it to the window, and lay down Say, "Go to sleep." Then Fat Alain put his head on René-Jean, and Jean-Ponte put his head on Fat Alain, and the three perpetrators fell into a deep sleep. A warm breeze blew in through the open window.The scent of wildflowers from ditches and hills mingled with the evening air.The universe is peaceful and benevolent.Everything is shining, everything is still, everything is caressing.The sun caresses the earth, which is light.We can feel the harmony emanating from the infinite tenderness of all things in our whole body.Everything in the universe contains maternal love.Nature is a continual miracle, both grand and benevolent.Someone seems to be mysteriously protecting the weak from the strong in this terrible human conflict.And it's all beautiful.The beauty of nature is no less than its generosity.The scene is indescribably quiet, with beautiful ripples, which are reflections cast on the grasslands and rivers by the movement of light and shadow.The smoke rises to the clouds, as if a dream rises to a phantom.The little bird circled over Turg.The swallow looked in from the window, as if to see how well the children were sleeping.They lay there beautifully, clinging to each other, motionless, half naked, as pure and lovely as little Cupids.The three of them together are less than nine years old.They are dreaming of heaven, with a slight smile on their lips, maybe God is whispering to them.All the languages ​​of man call them weak and bless them.They are honorable innocents.Everything was silent, as if everything in the world was paying attention to their gentle breathing, and the whole universe was listening to their gentle breathing; the leaves no longer rustled, the grass no longer trembled. The vast starry sky also seemed to hold its breath, lest it disturb the sleep of these three humble angels.Nothing is more sublime than nature's boundless reverence for the weak. The sun was about to set and had almost reached the horizon.Suddenly, in the deep stillness, there was a flash of light from the forest, followed by a loud bang.This is the sound of cannon.The cannon fire reverberated into a burst of crackling.The hills echoed incessantly, terribly.Jorge Te was woken up. She raised her head a little, held up her little finger, listened and said: "Boom!" The sound stopped, everything returned to tranquility, and Jorgete leaned against Fat Alan and fell asleep again.