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- Стр. 1/396
Red and Black
Put
thousands
together
less
bad
,
But
the
cage
less
gay
.
—
Hobbes
.
The
little
town
of
Verrières
can
pass
for
one
of
the
prettiest
in
Franche
-
Comté
.
Its
white
houses
with
their
pointed
red
-
tiled
roofs
stretch
along
the
slope
of
a
hill
,
whose
slightest
undulations
are
marked
by
groups
of
vigorous
chestnuts
.
The
Doubs
flows
to
within
some
hundred
feet
above
its
fortifications
,
which
were
built
long
ago
by
the
Spaniards
,
and
are
now
in
ruins
.
Verrières
is
sheltered
on
the
north
by
a
high
mountain
which
is
one
of
the
branches
of
the
Jura
.
The
jagged
peaks
of
the
Verra
are
covered
with
snow
from
the
beginning
of
the
October
frosts
.
A
torrent
which
rushes
down
from
the
mountains
traverses
Verrières
before
throwing
itself
into
the
Doubs
,
and
supplies
the
motive
power
for
a
great
number
of
saw
mills
.
The
industry
is
very
simple
,
and
secures
a
certain
prosperity
to
the
majority
of
the
inhabitants
who
are
more
peasant
than
bourgeois
.
It
is
not
,
however
,
the
wood
saws
which
have
enriched
this
little
town
.
It
is
the
manufacture
of
painted
tiles
,
called
Mulhouse
tiles
,
that
is
responsible
for
that
general
affluence
which
has
caused
the
façades
of
nearly
all
the
houses
in
Verrières
to
be
rebuilt
since
the
fall
of
Napoleon
.
One
has
scarcely
entered
the
town
,
before
one
is
stunned
by
the
din
of
a
strident
machine
of
terrifying
aspect
.
Twenty
heavy
hammers
which
fall
with
a
noise
that
makes
the
paved
floor
tremble
,
are
lifted
up
by
a
wheel
set
in
motion
by
the
torrent
.
Each
of
these
hammers
manufactures
every
day
I
don
’
t
know
how
many
thousands
of
nails
.
The
little
pieces
of
iron
which
are
rapidly
transformed
into
nails
by
these
enormous
hammers
,
are
put
in
position
by
fresh
pretty
young
girls
.
This
labour
so
rough
at
first
sight
is
one
of
the
industries
which
most
surprises
the
traveller
who
penetrates
for
the
first
time
the
mountains
which
separate
France
and
Helvetia
.
If
when
he
enters
Verrières
,
the
traveller
asks
who
owns
this
fine
nail
factory
which
deafens
everybody
who
goes
up
the
Grande
-
Rue
,
he
is
answered
in
a
drawling
tone
"
Eh
!
it
belongs
to
M
.
the
Mayor
.
"
And
if
the
traveller
stops
a
few
minutes
in
that
Grande
-
Rue
of
Verrières
which
goes
on
an
upward
incline
from
the
bank
of
the
Doubs
to
nearly
as
far
as
the
summit
of
the
hill
,
it
is
a
hundred
to
one
that
he
will
see
a
big
man
with
a
busy
and
important
air
.
When
he
comes
in
sight
all
hats
are
quickly
taken
off
.
His
hair
is
grizzled
and
he
is
dressed
in
grey
.
He
is
a
Knight
of
several
Orders
,
has
a
large
forehead
and
an
aquiline
nose
,
and
if
you
take
him
all
round
,
his
features
are
not
devoid
of
certain
regularity
.
One
might
even
think
on
the
first
inspection
that
it
combines
with
the
dignity
of
the
village
mayor
that
particular
kind
of
comfortableness
which
is
appropriate
to
the
age
of
forty
-
eight
or
fifty
.
But
soon
the
traveller
from
Paris
will
be
shocked
by
a
certain
air
of
self
-
satisfaction
and
self
-
complacency
mingled
with
an
almost
indefinable
narrowness
and
lack
of
inspiration
.
One
realises
at
last
that
this
man
’
s
talent
is
limited
to
seeing
that
he
is
paid
exactly
what
he
is
owed
,
and
in
paying
his
own
debts
at
the
latest
possible
moment
.
Such
is
M
.
de
Rênal
,
the
mayor
of
Verrières
.
After
having
crossed
the
road
with
a
solemn
step
,
he
enters
the
mayoral
residence
and
disappears
from
the
eye
of
the
traveller
.
But
if
the
latter
continues
to
walk
a
hundred
steps
further
up
,
he
will
perceive
a
house
with
a
fairly
fine
appearance
,
with
some
magnificent
gardens
behind
an
iron
grill
belonging
to
the
house
.
Beyond
that
is
an
horizon
line
formed
by
the
hills
of
Burgundy
,
which
seem
ideally
made
to
delight
the
eyes
.
This
view
causes
the
traveller
to
forget
that
pestilential
atmosphere
of
petty
money
-
grubbing
by
which
he
is
beginning
to
be
suffocated
.
