For a month the hot sun has been parching the fields. Nature is expanding beneath its rays; the fields are green as far as the eye can see. The big azure dome of the sky is unclouded. The farms of Normandy, scattered over the plains and surrounded by a belt of tall beeches, look, from a distance, like little woods. On closer view, after lowering the worm-eaten wooden bars, you imagine yourself in an immense garden, for all the ancient apple-trees, as gnarled as the peasants themselves, are in bloom. The sweet scent of their blossoms mingles with the heavy smell of the earth and the penetrating odor of the stables.

It is noon. The family is eating under the shade of a pear tree planted in front of the door; father, mother, the four children, and the help—two women and three men are all there. All are silent. The soup is eaten and then a dish of potatoes fried with bacon is brought on.

From time to time one of the women gets up and takes a pitcher down to the cellar to fetch more cider.

The man, a big fellow about forty years old, is watching a grape vine, still bare, which is winding and twisting like a snake along the side of the house.

At last he says: “Father's vine is budding early this year. Perhaps we may get something from it.”

The woman then turns round and looks, without saying a word.

This vine is planted on the spot where their father had been shot.

It was during the war of 1870. The Prussians were occupying the whole country. General Faidherbe, with the Northern Division of the army, was opposing them.

The Prussians had established their headquarters at this farm. The old farmer to whom it belonged, Father Pierre Milon, had received and quartered them to the best of his ability.

For a month the German vanguard had been in this village. The French remained motionless, ten leagues away; and yet, every night, some of the Uhlans disappeared.

Of all the isolated scouts, of all those who were sent to the outposts, in groups of not more than three, not one ever returned.

They were picked up the next morning in a field or in a ditch. Even their horses were found along the roads with their throats cut.

These murders seemed to be done by the same men, who could never be found.

The country was terrorized. Farmers were shot on suspicion; women were imprisoned;children were frightened in order to try and obtain information. Nothing could be ascertained.

But, one morning, Father Milon was found stretched out in the barn, with a sword gash across his face.

Two Uhlans were found dead about a mile and a half from the farm. One of them was still holding his bloody sword in his hand. He had fought, tried to defend himself.

A court-martial was immediately held in the open air, in front of the farm. The old man was brought before it.

He was sixty-eight years old, small, thin, bent, with two big hands resembling the claws of a crab. His colorless hair was sparse and thin, like the down of a young duck, allowing patches of his scalp to be seen. The brown and wrinkled skin of his neck showed big veins which disappeared behind his jaws and came out again at the temples. He had the reputation of being miserly and hard to deal with.

They stood him up between four soldiers, in front of the kitchen table, which had been dragged outside. Five officers and the colonel seated themselves opposite him.

The colonel spoke in French: “Father Milon, since we have been here we have only had praise for you. You have always been obliging and even attentive to us. But to-day a terrible accusation is hanging over you, and you must clear the matter up. How did you receive that wound on your face?”

The peasant answered nothing.

The colonel continued: “Your silence accuses you, Father Milon. But I want you to answer me! Do you understand? Do you know who killed the two Uhlans who were found this morning near Calvaire?”

The old man answered clearly: “I did.”

The colonel, surprised, was silent for a minute, looking straight at the prisoner. Father Milon stood impassive, with the stupid look of the peasant, his eyes lowered as though he were talking to the priest. Just one thing betrayed an uneasy mind; he was continually swallowing his saliva, with a visible effort, as though his throat were terribly contracted.

The man's family, his son Jean, his daughter-in-law and his two grandchildren were standing a few feet behind him, bewildered and affrighted.

The colonel went on: “Do you also know who killed all the scouts who have been found dead, for a month, throughout the country, every morning?”

The old man answered with the same stupid look: “I did.”

“You killed them all?”

“Uh huh! I did.”

“You alone? All alone?”

“Uh huh!”

“Tell me how you did it.”

This time the man seemed moved; the necessity for talking any length of time annoyed him visibly. He stammered: “I dunno! I simply did it.”

The colonel continued: “I warn you that you will have to tell me everything. You might as well make up your mind right away. How did you begin?”

The man cast a troubled look toward his family, standing close behind him. He hesitated a minute longer, and then suddenly made up his mind to obey the order.

“I was coming home one night at about ten o'clock, the night after you got here. You and your soldiers had taken more than fifty ecus worth of forage from me, as well as a cow and two sheep. I said to myself: ‘As much as they take from you; just so much will you make them pay back.' And then I had other things on my mind which I will tell you. Just then I noticed one of your soldiers who was smoking his pipe by the ditch behind the barn. I went and got my scythe and crept up slowly behind him, so that he couldn't hear me. And I cut his head off with one single blow, just as I would a blade of grass, before he could say‘Booh! ' If you should look at the bottom of the pond, you will find him tied up in a potato-sack, with a stone fastened to it.

“I got an idea. I took all his clothes, from his boots to his cap, and hid them away in the little wood behind the yard.”

The old man stopped. The officers remained speechless, looking at each other. The questioning began again, and this is what they learned.

Once this murder committed, the man had lived with this one thought: “Kill the Prussians!” He hated them with the blind, fierce hate of the greedy yet patriotic peasant. He had his idea, as he said. He waited several days.

He was allowed to go and come as he pleased, because he had shown himself so humble, submissive and obliging to the invaders. Each night he saw the outposts leave. One night he followed them, having heard the name of the village to which the men were going, and having learned the few words of German which he needed for his plan through associating with the soldiers.

He left through the back yard, slipped into the woods, found the dead man's clothes and put them on.

Then he began to crawl through the fields, following along the hedges in order to keep out of sight, listening to the slightest noises, as wary as a poacher.

As soon as he thought the time ripe, he approached the road and hid behind a bush. He waited for a while. Finally, toward midnight, he heard the sound of a galloping horse. The man put his ear to the ground in order to make sure that only one horseman was approaching, then he got ready.

An Uhlan came galloping along, carrying despatches. As he went, he was all eyes and ears. When he was only a few feet away, Father Milon dragged himself across the road, moaning: “Hilfe! Hilfe!” ( Help! Help! ) The horseman stopped, and recognizing a German, he thought he was wounded and dismounted, coming nearer without any suspicion, and just as he was leaning over the unknown man, he received, in the pit of his stomach, a heavy thrust from the long curved blade of the sabre. He dropped without suffering pain, quivering only in the final throes.

Then the farmer, radiant with the silent joy of an old peasant, got up again, and, for his own pleasure, cut the dead man's throat. He then dragged the body to the ditch and threw it in.

The horse quietly awaited its master. Father Milon mounted him and started galloping across the plains.

About an hour later he noticed two more Uhlans who were returning home, side by side.He rode straight for them, once more crying “Hilfe! Hilfe!”

The Prussians, recognizing the uniform, let him approach without distrust. The old man passed between them like a cannon-ball, felling them both, one with his sabre and the other with a revolver.

Then he killed the horses, German horses! After that he quickly returned to the woods and hid one of the horses. He left his uniform there and again put on his old clothes; then going back into bed, he slept until morning.

For four days he did not go out, waiting for the inquest to be terminated; but on the fifth day he went out again and killed two more soldiers by the same stratagem. From that time on he did not stop. Each night he wandered about in search of adventure, killing Prussians, sometimes here and sometimes there, galloping through deserted fields, in the moonlight, a lost Uhlan, a hunter of men. Then, his task accomplished, leaving behind him the bodies lying along the roads, the old farmer would return and hide his horse and uniform.

He went, toward noon, to carry oats and water quietly to his mount, and he fed it well as he required from it a great amount of work.

But one of those whom he had attacked the night before, in defending himself slashed the old peasant across the face with his sabre.

However, he had killed them both. He had come back and hidden the horse and put on his ordinary clothes again; but as he reached home he began to feel faint, and had dragged himself as far as the stable, being unable to reach the house.

They had found him there, bleeding, on the straw.

When he had finished his tale, he suddenly lifted up his head and looked proudly at the Prussian officers.

The colonel, who was gnawing at his mustache, asked: “You have nothing else to say?”

“Nothing more; I have finished my task; I killed sixteen, not one more or less.”

“Do you know that you are going to die?”

“I haven't asked for mercy.”

“Have you been a soldier?”

“Yes, I served my time. And then, you had killed my father, who was a soldier of the first Emperor. And last month you killed my youngest son, Francois, near Evreux. I owed you one for that; I paid. We are quits.”

The officers were looking at each other.

The old man continued: “Eight for my father, eight for the boy—we are quits. I did not seek any quarrel with you. I don't know you. I don't even know where you come from. And here you are, ordering me about in my home as though it were your own. I took my revenge upon the others. I'm not sorry.”

And, straightening up his bent back, the old man folded his arms in the attitude of a modest hero.

The Prussians talked in a low tone for a long time. One of them, a captain, who had also lost his son the previous month, was defending the poor wretch.

Then the colonel arose and, approaching Father Milon, said in a low voice: “Listen, old man, there is perhaps a way of saving your life, it is to—”

But the man was not listening, and, his eyes fixed on the hated officer, while the wind played with the downy hair on his head, he distorted his slashed face, giving it a truly terrible expression, and, swelling out his chest, he spat, as hard as he could, right in the Prussian's face.

The colonel, furious, raised his hand, and for the second time the man spat in his face.

All the officers had jumped up and were shrieking orders at the same time.

In less than a minute the old man, still impassive, was pushed up against the wall and shot, looking smilingly the while toward Jean, his eldest son, his daughter-in-law and his two grandchildren, who witnessed this scene in dumb terror.

一個月來，烈日一直在烘烤著田野。大自然在烈日的光線照耀下伸展開來；極目遠眺，田野一片翠綠。天空蔚藍的蒼穹晴朗無云。諾曼底的農莊散布在平原上，一圈高大的山毛櫸環繞其間，遠遠看上去猶如小樹林一般。走近一看，蟲蛀的柵欄也變矮了，你會以為自己進入了一座一望無際的花園，因為所有像農夫們一樣飽經風霜的老蘋果樹都在開花。蘋果花的甜香與泥土的濃郁氣息，以及牲口棚的刺鼻氣味，混合在了一起。

時值中午。一家人正在門前的一棵梨樹蔭下吃飯；父親、母親、四個孩子，兩女三男五個幫工都在那里。所有人都沒有說話。湯喝完后，又上了一盤土豆煨咸肉。

其中一個女幫工不時地站起來，拎著大罐子，下到酒窖里，去盛蘋果酒。

男主人，四十來歲，人高馬大，正在望著一棵尚未掛果的葡萄藤，只見葡萄藤像蛇一樣沿著房子的側墻蜿蜒纏繞。

最后，他說：“老爹的葡萄藤今年及早發芽。說不定我們可以吃上它結的果子咧。”

這時，女主人扭過頭看了看，一聲沒吭。

這個葡萄藤就種在老爹被槍決的地方。

那是在1870年戰爭期間。普魯士人占領了整個這一帶地區。費德爾布將軍率領的北方軍正在抵抗他們。

當時，普魯士軍把司令部駐扎在這個農莊。老農夫皮埃爾·米隆老爹是這個農莊的主人，他竭盡所能接待他們，安置他們。

普魯士軍的先頭部隊抵達這個村子一個月來，法軍在相距十里格的地方始終按兵不動；然而，每天夜里，普魯士軍都有一些槍騎兵[1]失蹤。

所有單獨行動的偵察兵，所有被派到前哨的偵察兵，只要一行不超過三人，皆一去不返。

他們總在隔天早上被人在地里或壕溝里發現。即使他們的馬，也被發現割斷喉嚨橫尸路邊。

這些暗殺好像是同一伙人干的，但誰也沒能追查到他們。

這個地區人心惶惶。受到懷疑的農民被槍殺；婦女們遭到關押；為了設法獲取線索，他們還恐嚇孩子們。最終什么也沒能查到。

但是，一天早上，米隆老爹被發現躺在牲口棚里，臉上有一道深深的刀傷。

兩個槍騎兵死在了距離這個農莊大約一英里半的地方。其中一個手里還握著他血淋淋的馬刀。他搏斗過，想設法自衛。

一場露天軍事審判立刻在農莊前面展開。老人被帶了上來。

他六十八歲，瘦小佝僂，兩只大手酷似一對蟹爪，蒼白的頭發稀疏細弱，宛若雛鴨絨毛，頭皮斑駁可見，脖子上皺紋斑斑的褐色皮膚露出一根根粗筋，這些粗筋鉆到下巴后面不見了蹤影，又從鬢角鉆出來。他的吝嗇和難打交道是出了名的。

他們讓他站在一張從廚房拖到外面的桌子面前，周圍四個普魯士兵把守。五個軍官和上校坐在他的對面。

上校用法國話說道：“米隆老爹，自從到這里以來，我們對你只有稱贊。你總是對我們熱心幫助，甚至關心體貼。但今天，有一項可怕的指控懸在你的頭上，所以你必須澄清這件事。你臉上的那道傷是怎么來的？”

這個農夫沒有回答。

上校接著說道：“你不說話，就說明你有罪，米隆老爹。但是，我要你回答我！你聽明白了嗎？你知道今天早上在十字架附近發現的兩個槍騎兵是誰殺的嗎？”

老人明確答道：“是我殺的。”

上校吃了一驚，沉默了一會兒，直盯著這個拘留犯。米隆老爹帶著農民那副呆呆的表情，站在那里，一動不動，眼睛低垂，就像他在對牧師說話一樣。只有一件事露出了他心神不安的跡象，就是明顯看到他努力咽著口水，好像他的喉嚨被可怕收縮似的。

老人的全家——兒子讓、兒媳和兩個孫子——都站在他后面幾英尺的地方，慌亂驚恐。

上校接著又說：“你也知道一個月來每天早上整個地區所有被發現死亡的偵察兵都是誰殺的嗎？”

老人用同樣木木的表情答道：“是我殺的。”

“全是你殺的？”

“嗯嗯！全是我殺的。”

“你一個人？獨自一人？”

“嗯嗯！”

“告訴我，你是怎么殺的。”

這次，老人似有所動；要說的話需要那么長時間，顯然讓他不耐煩。他結結巴巴地說：“我不知道！我就那么干了。”

上校接著說：“我警告你，你必須全部告訴我。你最好馬上決定。你是怎么開始下手的？”

老人向緊挨著站在他身后的家人不安地看了一眼，又遲疑了一會兒，隨后突然下定決心順應對方的要求。

“一天夜里，就是你們到這里后的第二天夜里，大概十點鐘，我正要回家。你和你的那些士兵搶走了我五十埃居[2]的草料，還搶走了一頭牛和兩只羊。我對自己說：‘他們搶走多少，就要他們還多少。’當時我心里還有其他事兒，我會告訴你的。正在這時，我注意到你們的一個士兵坐在我的牲口棚后面的壕溝邊正抽著煙。我去拿來了鐮刀，躡手躡腳慢慢地走到他身后，以免他聽到。然后，我一鐮下去就割了他的頭，簡直像割一片草葉一般，他連叫都沒能來得及。你看一下池塘底，就會發現他被捆住塞進裝土豆的麻袋里，麻袋上綁著一塊石頭。

“我轉念一想，就從靴子到帽子扒下了他所有的衣服，然后把它們藏在了院子后面的小樹林里。”

老人停住了話頭。那些軍官面面相覷，沒有說話。審訊再次開始，下面就是他們聽到的情況。

老人一旦開了這次殺戒，心里就總存著這個念頭：“殺普魯士人！”他對他們帶著無法控制的強烈仇恨，這種仇恨是既熱切又愛國的農民才會有。正如他所說，他有自己的打算。他等了好幾天。

因為他對侵略者低聲下氣、逆來順受、熱心相助，所以他們允許他隨意出入。他每天夜里都看到那些偵察兵出發。一天夜里，他聽到那些偵察兵要去的那個村子的名字后，就跟在他們后面。他學會了一些德國話，因為他實施自己的計劃，需要跟那些士兵交往。

他從后院出來，溜進樹林，找到那個死去士兵的衣服穿上去。

隨后，他開始順著樹籬爬過田地，以免被人發現；他像偷獵者一樣機警，傾聽哪怕最小的聲響。

他認為時機一成熟，便靠近大路，藏在矮樹叢里。他等了一會兒。終于，快到半夜時，他聽到了一陣飛馳的馬蹄聲。老人將耳朵貼在地上，以確定只有一個騎兵走近，然后再嚴陣以待。

一個騎兵帶著急件飛馳而來，一邊飛奔，一邊眼觀六路、耳聽八方。等他離著僅有幾英尺遠時，米隆老爹便拖著身子爬上大路，一邊呻吟：“Hilfe！Hilfe！（救命！救命！）”騎兵停住馬，聽出是一個德國人，以為他是受傷落馬，就毫不懷疑地上前來。正當他俯身去看這個素不認識的人時，長長的彎刀就猛地戳進了他的胸口。他沒受什么痛苦就倒了下來，只是最后掙扎時顫抖了幾下。

之后，這個老農夫洋溢著一位老農無聲的喜悅，又站起來，而且自己尋開心，還割斷了死人的喉嚨，隨后把尸首拖到壕溝邊，扔了進去。

那匹馬靜靜地等候著它的主人。米隆老爹騎上馬，飛馳在平原上。

大約一小時后，他又看到兩個正返回營地的槍騎兵并排走來。他徑直向他們奔去，再次大聲喊道：“Hilfe！Hilfe！”

兩個普魯士兵認出了軍裝，沒有懷疑就讓他走近前來。老人像炮彈一樣從他們兩人中間掠過去，馬刀和手槍左右開弓，一下干倒了他們兩個。

接著，他又宰了那兩匹馬—德國馬！之后，他飛快地回到樹林，藏起了其中一匹馬。他在那里脫掉軍裝，又穿上自己原來那身衣服，然后回家鉆進被窩，一直睡到了第二天早上。

他連續四天都沒有出門，等待調查結束；但是，第五天他又出去用同樣的計策殺了兩個普魯士兵。從那以后，他就沒有住過手。每天夜里，他騎著馬在月光下飛馳過荒蕪的田地，東奔西跑，四處游蕩，尋找冒險的機會，殺死普魯士人，既像一個迷路的槍騎兵，又像一個專門殺人的獵手。完成工作后，老農夫常常把那些尸首撇在身后的路邊，回去藏好自己的馬和軍裝。

快到中午時，他悄悄給那匹馬送去燕麥和水，把它喂得飽飽的，因為他需要它干很多活。

但是，前一天夜里，老農夫襲擊其中一個人時，那個人自衛，用馬刀在老人的臉上砍了一刀。

然而，他還是殺死了那兩個人。他回去后，藏好那匹馬，又穿上了平常那身衣服；但是，他回家時，開始感到眩暈，拖著身子只走到了牲口棚那么遠，沒能回到房子里。

人們發現他躺在那里的稻草上，渾身是血。

他講完自己的經歷后，突然抬起頭，揚眉吐氣地看著那些普魯士軍官。

上校捻著胡子，問道：“你再沒有什么可說的了嗎？”

“沒有了。我已經完成了自己的任務；我殺了十六個，不多不少。”

“你知道你快要死了嗎？”

“我從未要求過寬恕。”

“你當過兵嗎？”

“當過，我打過仗。當時，你們殺了我的父親，他是拿破侖一世皇帝的士兵。上個月你們又在埃夫勒附近殺了我的小兒子法朗索瓦。我為此欠你們的人情；我已經還清了。我們兩相抵銷。”

軍官們面面相覷。

老人接著說道：“八個是為我的父親，八個是為我的兒子——我們兩清了。我不是找你們事。我不認識你們，甚至不知道你們從哪里來。而你們到了這里，在我家里把我指揮得團團轉，就像這是你們自己家一樣。我在那些人身上報了仇。我不后悔。”

說完，老人挺起佝僂的后背，以端莊的英雄姿態交叉雙臂。

那些普魯士人低聲談了很久。其中一個上尉也在上個月失去了兒子，他為這個可憐的苦命人進行辯護。

然后，上校站起來，走近米隆老爹身邊，低聲說道：“聽著，老頭，也許有一個方法可以救你一命，就是要——”

但是，老人沒有在聽，他的眼睛盯著那個可恨的軍官，這時風逗弄著他頭上絨毛般的稀發，他扭曲了帶著刀傷的臉，露出了一副真正可怕的表情，隨后挺起胸膛，竭盡全力對準那個普魯士人的臉吐了一口。

上校勃然大怒，抬起一只手；緊接著，老人又沖他吐了一口。

所有的軍官都跳將起來，同時尖叫著喊出了命令。

不到一分鐘，仍然鎮定自若的老人就被推到墻邊執行槍決，他的長子、兒媳和兩個孫子默然無聲驚恐地目睹這一幕，嚇蒙了，老人卻面帶微笑看著他們。