I had always afterwards a strong wish to meet the architect,Brother Michel;and one day,when I was talking with the Resident in Tai-o-hae (the chief port of the island),there were shown in to us an old,worn,purblind,ascetic-looking priest,and a lay brother,a type of all that is most sound in France,with a broad,clever,honest,humorous countenance,an eye very large and bright,and a strong and healthy body inclining to obesity.But that his blouse was black and his face shaven clean,you might pick such a man to-day,toiling cheerfully in his own patch of vines,from half a dozen provinces of France;and yet he had always for me a haunting resemblance to an old kind friend of my boyhood,whom Iname in case any of my readers should share with me that memory -Dr.Paul,of the West Kirk.Almost at the first word I was sure it was my architect,and in a moment we were deep in a discussion of Hatiheu church.Brother Michel spoke always of his labours with a twinkle of humour,underlying which it was possible to spy a serious pride,and the change from one to another was often very human and diverting.'ET VOS GARGOUILLES MOYEN-AGE,'cried I;'COMME ELLES SONT ORIGINATES!''N'EST-CE PAS?ELLES SONT BIENDROLES!'he said,smiling broadly;and the next moment,with a sudden gravity:'CEPENDANT IL Y EN A UNE QUI A UNE PATTE DE CASSE;IL FAUT QUE JE VOIE CELA.'I asked if he had any model -a point we much discussed.'NON,'said he simply;'C'EST UNE EGLISEIDEALE.'The relievo was his favourite performance,and very justly so.The angels at the door,he owned,he would like to destroy and replace.'ILS N'ONT PAS DE VIE,ILS MANQUENT DE VIE.
第21章 HATIHEU(3)（1 / 3）