You don't have to be French to enjo

You don't have to be French to enjoy a decent red wine," Charles Jousselin de Gruse used to tell his foreign guests whenever he entertained them in Paris. "But you do have to be French to recognize one," he would add with a laugh.

After a lifetime in the French diplomatic corps, the Count de Gruse lived with his wife in an elegant townhouse on Quai Voltaire. He was a likeable man, cultivated of course, with a well-deserved reputation as a generous host and an amusing raconteur.

This evening's guests were all European and all equally convinced that immigration was at the root of Europe's problems. Charles de Gruse said nothing. He had always concealed his contempt for such ideas. And, in any case, he had never much cared for these particular guests.

The first of the red Bordeaux was being served with the veal, and one of the guests turned to de Gruse.

"Come on, Charles, it's simple arithmetic. Nothing to do with race or colour. You must've had bags of experience of this sort of thing. What d'you say?"

"Yes, General. Bags!"

Without another word, de Gruse picked up his glass and introduced his bulbous, winey nose. After a moment he looked up with watery eyes.

"A truly full-bodied Bordeaux," he said warmly, "a wine among wines."

The four guests held their glasses to the light and studied their blood-red contents. They all agreed that it was the best wine they had ever tasted.

One by one the little white lights along the Seine were coming on, and from the first-floor windows you could see the brightly lit bateaux-mouches passing through the arches of the Pont du Carrousel. The party moved on to a dish of game served with a more vigorous claret.

"Can you imagine," asked de Gruse, as the claret was poured, "that there are people who actually serve wines they know nothing about?"

"Really?" said one of the guests, a German politician.

"Personally, before I uncork a bottle I like to know what's in it."

"But how? How can anyone be sure?"

"I like to hunt around the vineyards. Take this place I used to visit in Bordeaux. I got to know the winegrower there personally. That's the way to know what you're drinking."

"A matter of pedigree, Charles," said the other politician.

"This fellow," continued de Gruse as though the Dutchman had not spoken, "always gave you the story behind his wines. One of them was the most extraordinary story I ever heard. We were tasting, in his winery, and we came to a cask that made him frown. He asked if I agreed with him that red Bordeaux was the best wine in the world. Of course, I agreed. Then he made the strangest statement.

"'The wine in this cask,' he said, and there were tears in his eyes, 'is the best vintage in the world. But it started its life far from the country where it was grown.'"

De Gruse paused to check that his guests were being served.

"Well?" said the Dutchman.

De Gruse and his wife exchanged glances.

"Do tell them, mon chéri," she said.

De Gruse leaned forwards, took another sip of wine, and dabbed his lips with the corner of his napkin. This is the story he told them.

At the age of twenty-one, Pierre - that was the name he gave the winegrower - had been sent by his father to spend some time with his uncle in Madagascar. Within two weeks he had fallen for a local girl called Faniry, or "Desire" in Malagasy. You could not blame him. At seventeen she was ravishing. In the Malagasy sunlight her skin was golden. Her black, waist-length hair, which hung straight beside her cheeks, framed large, fathomless eyes. It was a genuine coup de foudre, for both of them. Within five months they were married. Faniry had no family, but Pierre's parents came out from France for the wedding, even though they did not strictly approve of it, and for three years the young couple lived very happily on the island of Madagascar. Then, one day, a telegram came from France. Pierre's parents and his only brother had been killed in a car crash. Pierre took the next flight home to attend the funeral and manage the vineyard left by his father.

Faniry followed two weeks later. Pierre was grief-stricken, but with Faniry he settled down to running the vineyard. His family, and the lazy, idyllic days under a tropical sun, were gone forever. But he was very happily married, and he was very well-off. Perhaps, he reasoned, life in Bordeaux would not be so bad.

But he was wrong. It soon became obvious that Faniry was jealous. In Madagascar she had no match. In France she was jealous of everyone. Of the maids. Of the secretary. Even of the peasant girls who picked the grapes and giggled at her funny accent. She convinced herself that Pierre made love to each of them in turn.

She started with insinuations, simple, artless ones that Pierre hardly even recognized. Then she tried blunt accusation in the privacy of their bedroom. When he denied that, she resorted to violent, humiliating denouncements in the kitchens, the winery, the plantations. The angel that Pierre had married in Madagasc

Results (Indonesian) 2:

Anda tidak harus Perancis untuk menikmati anggur merah yang layak, "Charles Jousselin de Gruse digunakan untuk memberitahu tamu asing setiap kali ia menghibur mereka di Paris." Tapi Anda harus Perancis untuk mengenali satu, "dia akan menambahkan dengan tertawa. Setelah seumur hidup di korps diplomatik Perancis, Count de Gruse tinggal bersama istrinya di sebuah townhouse elegan di Quai Voltaire. Dia adalah seorang pria menyenangkan, dibudidayakan tentu saja, dengan reputasi baik sebagai tuan rumah murah hati dan lucu pencerita. tamu ini malam ini semua Eropa dan semua sama-sama yakin bahwa imigrasi adalah akar dari masalah Eropa. Charles de Gruse berkata apa-apa. dia selalu menyembunyikan penghinaan untuk ide-ide tersebut. dan, dalam hal apapun, ia tidak pernah banyak peduli untuk tamu-tamu khusus. yang pertama dari Bordeaux merah yang disajikan dengan daging sapi muda, dan salah satu tamu berbalik untuk de Gruse. "Ayo, Charles, itu aritmatika sederhana. Tidak ada hubungannya dengan ras atau warna. Anda pasti memiliki tas pengalaman dari hal semacam ini. Apa d'Anda katakan? " " Ya, General. Tas! " Tanpa berkata-kata lagi, de Gruse mengangkat gelasnya dan memperkenalkan bulat, hidung winey nya. Setelah beberapa saat ia melihat dengan mata berair. " Benar-benar penuh bertubuh Bordeaux, "katanya hangat," anggur antara anggur. " keempat tamu diadakan gelas mereka untuk cahaya dan mempelajari isi merah darah mereka. mereka semua setuju bahwa itu adalah anggur terbaik yang pernah mereka rasakan. satu per satu lampu putih kecil di sepanjang Seine datang, dan dari yang pertama -floor jendela Anda bisa melihat terang bateaux-mouches melewati lengkungan dari Pont du Carrousel. partai pindah ke hidangan permainan disajikan dengan anggur merah yang lebih kuat. "Bisakah Anda bayangkan," tanya de Gruse, sebagai darah dituangkan, "bahwa ada orang-orang yang benar-benar melayani anggur mereka tahu apa-apa tentang?" "Benarkah?" kata salah satu tamu, seorang politisi Jerman. "secara pribadi, sebelum saya membuka sumbat botol saya ingin tahu apa yang ada di dalamnya." "Tapi bagaimana caranya? Bagaimana orang bisa yakin? " " Saya suka berburu di sekitar kebun-kebun anggur. Mengambil tempat ini saya digunakan untuk mengunjungi di Bordeaux. Aku harus tahu winegrower ada pribadi. Itulah cara untuk mengetahui apa yang Anda minum. " " Soal silsilah, Charles, "kata politisi lainnya. " Orang ini, "lanjut de Gruse seakan Belanda tidak berbicara," selalu memberi Anda cerita di balik nya anggur. Salah satunya adalah kisah paling luar biasa yang pernah saya dengar. Kami mencicipi, dalam anggur, dan kami datang ke tong yang membuatnya cemberut. Dia bertanya apakah saya setuju dengan dia bahwa merah Bordeaux adalah anggur terbaik di dunia. Tentu saja, saya setuju. Kemudian ia membuat pernyataan aneh. " 'The anggur di tong ini," katanya, dan ada air mata di matanya,' adalah vintage terbaik di dunia. Tapi itu memulai hidup jauh dari negara di mana ia tumbuh. ' " De Gruse berhenti untuk memeriksa bahwa tamunya yang dilayani. " Yah? " kata pelatih asal Belanda. De Gruse dan istrinya bertukar pandang. "Jangan katakan kepada mereka, mon chéri," katanya. De Gruse mencondongkan badan ke depan, meneguk anggur, dan mengusap bibirnya dengan ujung serbet. Ini adalah kisah dia mengatakan kepada mereka. Pada usia dua puluh satu, Pierre - itulah nama dia memberi winegrower yang - telah dikirim oleh ayahnya untuk menghabiskan beberapa waktu dengan pamannya di Madagaskar. Dalam waktu dua minggu dia telah jatuh untuk seorang gadis lokal bernama Faniry, atau "Desire" di Malagasi. Anda tidak bisa menyalahkan dia. Pada usia tujuh belas ia menggairahkan. Di bawah sinar matahari Malagasi kulitnya keemasan. Dia hitam, pinggang-panjang rambut, yang tergantung lurus di samping pipinya, dibingkai besar, mata tak terukur. Itu kudeta de foudre asli, bagi mereka berdua. Dalam lima bulan mereka menikah. Faniry tidak punya keluarga, tapi orang tua Pierre keluar dari Perancis untuk pernikahan, meskipun mereka tidak secara ketat menyetujui itu, dan selama tiga tahun pasangan muda hidup yang sangat bahagia di pulau Madagaskar. Kemudian, suatu hari, telegram datang dari Prancis. Orang tua Pierre dan hanya saudaranya telah tewas dalam kecelakaan mobil. Pierre mengambil penerbangan berikutnya rumah untuk menghadiri pemakaman dan mengelola kebun anggur yang ditinggalkan oleh ayahnya. Faniry diikuti dua minggu kemudian. Pierre berduka, tapi dengan Faniry ia duduk untuk menjalankan kebun anggur. Keluarganya, dan malas, hari indah di bawah matahari tropis, pergi selamanya. Tapi ia sangat bahagia menikah, dan dia sangat baik-off. Mungkin, ia beralasan, hidup di Bordeaux tidak akan terlalu buruk. Tapi dia salah. Segera menjadi jelas bahwa Faniry cemburu. Di Madagaskar ia tidak cocok. Di Perancis dia cemburu setiap orang. Dari pelayan. Sekretaris. Bahkan gadis-gadis petani yang memilih anggur dan tertawa di aksen lucu nya. Dia meyakinkan dirinya sendiri bahwa Pierre bercinta dengan masing-masing pada gilirannya. Dia mulai dengan sindiran, sederhana, yang polos yang Pierre hampir tidak bahkan diakui. Kemudian dia mencoba tuduhan tumpul dalam privasi kamar tidur mereka. Ketika ia membantah bahwa, ia terpaksa kekerasan, denouncements memalukan di dapur, anggur, perkebunan. Malaikat yang Pierre telah menikah di Madagasc