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For three heavy hours, the stone faces of the chateau, lion and human, stared
blindly at the night. Dead darkness lay on all the landscape, dead darkness
added its own hush to the hushing dust on all the roads. The burial-place had
got to the pass that its little heaps of poor grass were undistinguishable from
one another; the figure on the Cross might have come down, for anything that
could be seen of it. In the village, taxers and taxed were fast asleep.
Dreaming, perhaps, of banquets, as the starved usually do, and of ease and rest,
as the driven slave and the yoked ox may, its lean inhabitants slept soundly,
and were fed and freed.
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For three hours, the stone faces of men and lions on the chateau stared out at
the night. All of the land was dark, and the dust settled on the quiet roads. It
was so dark that the little heaps of poor grass in the graveyard were
indistinguishable from one another, and the figure on the crucifix might have
come down, since it was practically invisible in the darkness. In the village,
the tax collectors and the people who paid the taxes were fast asleep. They may
have been dreaming of large feasts, as starving people usually do, or of resting
and living easily, as overworked slaves and oxen do. The thin villagers slept
soundly and, in their dreams, were fed well and were free.
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The fountain in the village flowed unseen and unheard, and the fountain at the
chateau dropped unseen and unheard—both melting away, like the minutes that were
falling from the spring of Time—through three dark hours. Then, the grey water
of both began to be ghostly in the light, and the eyes of the stone faces of the
chateau were opened.
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The fountain in the village flowed silently and invisibly in the darkness, as
did the fountain at the chateau. They melted away like minutes of time during
the three hours of darkness. Then, it started to turn to daylight.
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Lighter and lighter, until at last the sun touched the tops of the still
trees, and poured its radiance over the hill. In the glow, the water of the
chateau fountain seemed to turn to blood, and the stone faces crimsoned. The
carol of the birds was loud and high, and, on the weather-beaten sill of the
great window of the bed-chamber of Monsieur the Marquis, one little bird sang
its sweetest song with all its might. At this, the nearest stone face seemed to
stare amazed, and, with open mouth and dropped under-jaw, looked
awe-stricken.
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It got lighter and lighter until sunlight hit the tops of the trees and light
spread over the hill. In the sunlight, the water in the chateau fountain looked
red as if the water were blood, and the faces of the stone statues were also
red. The birds sang loudly, and one little bird sitting on the windowsill of the
marquis’s bedroom sang with all its might. The closest stone face nearest seemed
to stare at the bird. Its mouth was open wide, making it appear amazed and awe
stricken.
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Now, the sun was full up, and movement began in the village. Casement windows
opened, crazy doors were unbarred, and people came forth shivering—chilled, as
yet, by the new sweet air. Then began the rarely lightened toil of the day among
the village population. Some, to the fountain; some, to the fields; men and
women here, to dig and delve; men and women there, to see to the poor live
stock, and lead the bony cows out, to such pasture as could be found by the
roadside. In the church and at the Cross, a kneeling figure or two; attendant on
the latter prayers, the led cow, trying for a breakfast among the weeds at its
foot.
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Finally the sun was up and people began to stir in the village. Windows were
opened, doors were unlocked, and people came outside shivering, chilled by the
sweet morning air. Then they began the hard work that would continue for all of
them throughout the day. Some went to the fountain, and some went to work in the
fields. Men and women went to dig and search for food. They went to tend to the
meager livestock and to lead the skinny cows to any meager pastures they could
find near the roadside. A couple of people were at the church kneeling and
praying at the cross. A cow they had led there tried to eat the weeds at its
feet.
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The chateau awoke later, as became its quality, but awoke gradually and
surely. First, the lonely boar-spears and knives of the chase had been reddened
as of old; then, had gleamed trenchant in the morning sunshine; now, doors and
windows were thrown open, horses in their stables looked round over their
shoulders at the light and freshness pouring in at doorways, leaves sparkled and
rustled at iron-grated windows, dogs pulled hard at their chains, and reared
impatient to be loosed.
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The people at the marquis’s chateau woke up later than the villagers, as was
their habit, but they did gradually awake. First, the boar spears and hunting
knives hanging in the hallway gleamed red in the sunlight. Then doors and
windows were opened. The horses in their stables turned around to see light and
fresh air coming in through the doorways. The iron-grated windows were opened,
revealing the leaves outside rustling and sparkling. Dogs pulled at their chains
impatiently, impatient to be let loose.
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All these trivial incidents belonged to the routine of life, and the return of
morning. Surely, not so the ringing of the great bell of the chateau, nor the
running up and down the stairs; nor the hurried figures on the terrace; nor the
booting and tramping here and there and everywhere, nor the quick saddling of
horses and riding away?
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All of these small events were part of the morning routine. But some other
things were happening that morning were not that common. At the chateau, the
large bell was ringing. People were running up and down the stairs and hurrying
around on the terrace. People ran everywhere. Others saddled horses quickly and
rode away.
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