When he had calmed down a little I walked with him to the deputy-mayor,
whose office was over a little shop. After hearing me and examining my
papers, this gentleman was satisfied that I was not a very dangerous
person, and he told me that I had better forget the incident.
The fierce old man could not understand why I was released. He even
protested: '_Il dit qu'il est un anglais; mais il le dit!_'
The deputy-mayor tried to calm him by observing that I had a right to be an
Englishman. The _garde_ then walked out, looking very hot and puzzled. From
his childhood he had heard of the English as the worst tyrants that
the region had known. Was not the country strewn with the ruins of the
fortresses they had built? To his mind they were more dangerous enemies
than the Germans, who never came near Martel. I bear no grudge against the
old man. He believed that he was doing his duty in arresting me, and if I
had made more allowance for his age and prejudices the unpleasantness might
have been avoided. To him the old struggle with the English was almost as
fresh as if it had taken place in his father's time.
People who remain in the same place all their days, and who never read,
live much more in the past than others, and remember injuries done to their
remote ancestors as if they, the latest descendants, were still suffering
from them, I remember asking a woman in an inn not far from Martel how an
old gateway and other mediaeval buildings close by had been brought to such
a sad state of ruin.
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