“Quès aco?.. Qu? vive?” cried Tartarin, ears alert and eyes straining hard into the darkness.
Feet were running through the hotel, doors were slamming, breathless voices were crying: “Make haste! make haste!..” while without was ringing what seemed to be a trumpet-call, as flashes of flame illumined both panes2 and curtains.
Fire!..
At a bound he was out of bed, shod, clothed, and running headlong down the staircase, where the gas still burned and a rustling4 swarm5 of misses were descending7, with hair put up in haste, and they themselves swathed in shawls and red woollen jackets, or anything else that came to hand as they jumped out of bed.
Tartarin, to fortify8 himself and also to reassure9 the young ladies, cried out, as he rushed on, hustling10 everybody: “Keep cool! Keep cool!” in the voice of a gull11, pallid12, distraught, one of those voices that we hear in dreams sending chills down the back of the bravest man. Now, can you understand those young misses, who laughed as they looked at him and seemed to think it very funny? Girls have no notion of danger, at that age!..
Happily, the old diplomatist came along behind them, very cursorily13 clothed in a top-coat below which appeared his white drawers with trailing ends of tape-string.
Here was a man, at last!..
Tartarin ran to him waving his arms: “Ah! Monsieur le baron14, what a disaster!.. Do you know about it?.. Where is it?.. How did it take?..”
“Who? What?” stuttered the terrified baron, not understanding.
“Why, the fire . . . ”
“What fire?..”
The poor man’s countenance16 was so inexpressibly vacant and stupid that Tartarin abandoned him and rushed away abruptly18 to “organize help . . . ”
“Help!” repeated the baron, and after him four or five waiters, sound asleep on their feet in the antechamber, looked at one another completely bewildered and echoed, “Help!..”
At the first step that Tartarin made out-of-doors he saw his error. Not the slightest conflagration19! Only savage20 cold, and pitchy darkness, scarcely lighted by the resinous21 torches that were being carried hither and thither22, casting on the snow long, blood-coloured traces.
On the steps of the portico23, a performer on the Alpine horn was bellowing24 his modulated25 moan, that monotonous26 rànz des vaches on three notes, with which the Rigi-Kulm is wont27 to waken the worshippers of the sun and announce to them the rising of their star.
It is said that it shows itself, sometimes, on rising, at the extreme top of the mountain behind the hotel. To get his bearings, Tartarin had only to follow the long peal28 of the misses’ laughter which now went past him. But he walked more slowly, still full of sleep and his legs heavy with his six hours’ climb.
“Is that you, Manilof?..” said a clear voice from the darkness, the voice of a woman. “Help me . . . I have lost my shoe.”
He recognized at once the foreign warble of his pretty little neighbour at the dinner-table, whose delicate silhouette29 he now saw in the first pale gleam of the coming sun.
“It is not Manilof, mademoiselle, but if I can be useful to you . . . ”
She gave a little cry of surprise and alarm as she made a recoiling30 gesture that Tartarin did not perceive, having already stooped to feel about the short and crackling grass around them.
“Té, pardi! here it is!” he cried joyfully31. He shook the dainty shoe which the snow had powdered, and putting a knee to earth, most gallantly33 in the snow and the dampness, he asked, for all reward, the honour of replacing it on Cinderella’s foot.
She, more repellent than in the tale, replied with a very curt3 “no;” and endeavoured, by hopping34 on one foot, to reinstate her silk stocking in its little bronze shoe; but in that she could never have succeeded without the help of the hero, who was greatly moved by feeling for an instant that delicate hand upon his shoulder.
“You have good eyes,” she said, by way of thanks as they now walked side by side, and feeling their way.
“The habit of watching for game, mademoiselle.”
“Ah! you are a sportsman?”
She said it with an incredulous, satirical, accent Tartarin had only to name himself in order to convince her, but, like the bearers of all illustrious names, he preferred discretion35, coquetry. So, wishing to graduate the surprise, he answered:—
“I am a sportsman, efféctivemain.”
She continued in the same tone of irony:—
“And what game do you prefer to hunt?”
“The great carnivora, wild beasts . . . ” uttered Tartarin, thinking to dazzle her.
“Do you find many on the Rigi?”
Always gallant32, and ready in reply, Tartarin was about to say that on the Rigi he had so far met none but gazelles, when his answer was suddenly cut short by the appearance of two shadows, who called out:—
“Sonia!.. Sonia!..”
“I’m coming,” she said, and turning to Tartarin, whose eyes, now accustomed to the darkness, could distinguish her pale and pretty face beneath her mantle36, she added, this time seriously:—
“You have undertaken a dangerous enterprise, my good man . . . take care you do not leave your bones here.”
So saying, she instantly disappeared in the darkness with her companions.
Later, the threatening intonation37 that emphasized those words was fated to trouble the imagination of the Southerner; but now, he was simply vexed38 at the term “good man,” cast upon his elderly embonpoint, and also at the abrupt17 departure of the young girl just at the moment when he was about to name himself, and enjoy her stupefaction.
He made a few steps in the direction the group had taken, hearing a confused murmur39, with coughs and sneezes, of the clustering tourists waiting impatiently for the rising of the sun, the most vigorous among them having climbed to a little belvedere, the steps of which, wadded with snow, could be whitely distinguished40 in the vanishing darkness.
A gleam was beginning to light the Orient, saluted41 by a fresh blast from the Alpine horn, and that “Ah!!” of relief, always heard in theatres when the third bell raises the curtain.
Slight as a ray through a shutter42, this gleam, nevertheless, enlarged the horizon, but, at the same moment a fog, opaque43 and yellow, rose from the valley, a steam that grew more thick, more penetrating44 as the day advanced. ‘T was a veil between the scene and the spectators.
All hope was now renounced45 of the gigantic effects predicted in the guide-books. On the other hand, the heteroclite array of the dancers of the night before, torn from their slumbers46, appeared in fantastic and ridiculous outline like the shades of a magic lantern; shawls, rugs, and even bed-quilts wrapped around them. Under varied47 headgear, nightcaps of silk or cotton, broad-brimmed female hats, turbans, fur caps with ear-pads, were haggard faces, swollen48 faces, heads of shipwrecked beings cast upon a desert island in mid-ocean, watching for a sail in the offing with staring eyes.
But nothing — everlastingly49 nothing!
Nevertheless, certain among them strove, in a gush50 of good-will, to distinguish the surrounding summits, and, on the top of the belvedere could be heard the clucking of the Peruvian family, pressing around a big devil, wrapped to his feet in a checked ulster, who was pointing out imperturbably51, the invisible panorama52 of the Bernese Alps, naming in a loud voice the peaks that were lost in the fog.
“You see on the left the Finsteraarhorn, thirteen thousand seven hundred and ninety-five feet high . . . the Schreckhorn, the Wetterhorn, the Monk53, the Jungfrau, the elegant proportions of which I especially point out to these young ladies . . . ”
“Bé! vé! there’s one who does n’t lack cheek!” thought Tartarin; then, on reflection, he added: “I know that voice, au mouain.“
He recognized the accent, that accent of the South, distinguishable from afar like garlic; but, quite preoccupied54 in finding again his fair Unknown, he did not pause, and continued to inspect the groups — without result. She must have reentered the hotel, as they all did now, weary with standing15 about, shivering, to no purpose, so that presently no one remained on the cold and desolate55 plateau of that gray dawn but Tartarin and the Alpine horn-player, who continued to blow a melancholy56 note through his huge instrument, like a dog baying the moon.
He was a short old man, with a long beard, wearing a Tyrolese hat adorned57 with green woollen tassels58 that hung down upon his back and, in letters of gold, the words (common to all the hats and caps in the service of the hotel) Regina Montium. Tartarin went up to give him a pourboire, as he had seen all the other tourists do. “Let us go to bed again, my old friend,” he said, tapping him on the shoulder with Tarasconese familiarity. “A fine humbug59, qué! the sunrise on the Rigi.”
The old man continued to blow into his horn, concluding his ritornelle in three notes with a mute laugh that wrinkled the corners of his eyes and shook the green glands60 of his head-gear.
Tartarin, in spite of all, did not regret his night. That meeting with the pretty blonde repaid him for his loss of sleep, for, though nigh upon fifty, he still had a warm heart, a romantic imagination, a glowing hearthstone of life. Returning to bed, and shutting his eyes to make himself go to sleep, he fancied he felt in his hand that dainty little shoe, and heard again the gentle call of the fair young girl: “Is it you, Manilof?”
Sonia . . . what a pretty name!.. She was certainly Russian; and those young men were travelling with her; friends of her brother, no doubt.
Then all grew hazy61; the pretty face in its golden curls joined the other floating visions — Rigi slopes, cascades62 like plumes63 of feathers — and soon the heroic breathing of the great man, sonorous64 and rhythmical65, filled the little room and the greater part of the long corridor . . .
The next morning, before descending at the first gong for breakfast, Tartarin was about to make sure that his beard was well brushed, and that he himself did not look too badly in his Alpine costume, when, all of a sudden, he quivered. Before him, open, and gummed to his looking-glass by two wafers, was an anonymous66 letter, containing the following threats:—
“Devil of a Frenchman, your queer old clothes do not conceal67 you. You are forgiven once more for this attempt; but if you cross our path again, beware!“
Bewildered, he read this two or three times over without understanding it. Of whom, of what must he beware? How came that letter there? Evidently during his sleep; for he did not see it on returning from his auroral68 promenade69. He rang for the maid on duty; a fat, white face, all pitted with the small-pox, a perfect gruyère cheese, from which nothing intelligible70 could be drawn71, except that she was of “bon famille,” and never entered the rooms of the gentlemen unless they were there.
“A queer thing, au mouain,” thought Tartarin, turning and returning the letter, and much impressed by it. For a moment the name of Coste-calde crossed his mind — Costecalde, informed of his projects of ascension, and endeavouring to prevent them by manoeuvres and threats. On reflection, this appeared to him unlikely, and he ended by persuading himself that the letter was a joke . . . perhaps those little misses who had laughed at him so heartily72 . . . they are so free, those English and American young girls!
The second breakfast gong sounded. He put the letter in his pocket: “After all, we’ll soon see . . . ” and the formidable grimace73 with which he accompanied that reflection showed the heroism74 of his soul.
Fresh surprise when he sat down to table. Instead of his pretty neighbour, “whom Love had curled with gold,” he perceived the vulture throat of an old Englishwoman, whose long lappets swept the cloth. It was rumoured75 about him that the young lady and her companions had left the hotel by one of the early morning trains.
“’Cri nom! I’m fooled . . . ” exclaimed aloud the Italian tenor76, who, the evening before, had so rudely signified to Tartarin that he could not speak French. He must have learned it in a single night! The tenor rose, threw down his napkin, and hurried away, leaving the Southerner completely nonplussed77.
Of all the guests of the night before, none now remained but himself. That is always so on the Rigi-Kulm; no one stays there more than twenty-four hours. In other respects the scene was invariably the same; the compote-dishes in files divided the factions78. But on this particular morning the Rices triumphed by a great majority, reinforced by certain illustrious personages, and the Prunes79 did not, as they say, have it all their own way.
Tartarin, without taking sides with one or the other, went up to his room before the dessert, buckled80 his bag, and asked for his bill. He had had enough of Regina Montium and its dreary81 table d’h?te of deaf mutes.
Abruptly recalled to his Alpine madness by the touch of his ice-axe, his crampons, and the rope in which he rewound himself, he burned to attack a real mountain, a summit deprived of a lift and a photographer. He hesitated between the Finsteraarhorn, as being the highest, and the Jungfrau, whose pretty name of virginal whiteness made him think more than once of the little Russian.
Ruminating82 on these alternatives while they made out his bill, he amused himself in the vast, lugubrious83, silent hall of the hotel by looking at the coloured photographs hanging to the walls, representing glaciers84, snowy slopes, famous and perilous85 mountain passes: here, were ascensionists in file, like ants on a quest, creeping along an icy arête sharply defined and blue; farther on was a deep crevasse86, with glaucous sides, over which was thrown a ladder, and a lady crossing it on her knees, with an abbé after her raising his cassock.
The Alpinist of Tarascon, both hands on his ice-axe, had never, as yet, had an idea of such difficulties; he would have to meet them, pas mouain!..
Suddenly he paled fearfully.
In a black frame, an engraving87 from the famous drawing of Gustave Doré, reproducing the catastrophe88 on the Matterhorn, met his eye. Four human bodies on the flat of their backs or stomachs were coming headlong down the almost perpendicular89 slope of a névé, with extended arms and clutching hands, seeking the broken rope which held this string of lives, and only served to drag them down to death in the gulf90 where the mass was to fall pell-mell, with ropes, axes, veils, and all the gay outfit91 of Alpine ascension, grown suddenly tragic92.
“Awful!” cried Tartarin, speaking aloud in his horror.
A very civil ma?tre d’h?tel heard the exclamation93, and thought best to reassure him. Accidents of that nature, he said, were becoming very rare: the essential thing was to commit no imprudence and, above all, to procure94 good guides.
Tartarin asked if he could be told of one there, “with confidence . . . ” Not that he himself had any fear, but it was always best to have a sure man.
The waiter reflected, with an important air, twirling his moustache. “With confidence?.. Ah! if monsieur had only spoken sooner; we had a man here this morning who was just the thing . . . the courier of that Peruvian family . . . ”
“He understands the mountain?” said Tartarin, with a knowing air.
“Oh, yes, monsieur, all the mountains, in Switzerland, Savoie, Tyrol, India, in fact, the whole world; he has done them all, he knows them all, he can tell you all about them, and that’s something!.. I think he might easily be induced . . . With a man like that a child could go anywhere without danger.”
“Where is he? How could I find him?”
“At the Kaltbad, monsieur, preparing the rooms for his party . . . I could telephone to him.”
A telephone! on the Rigi!
That was the climax95. But Tartarin could no longer be amazed.
Five minutes later the man returned bringing an answer.
The courier of the Peruvian party had just started for the Tellsplatte, where he would certainly pass the night.
The Tellsplatte is a memorial chapel96, to which pilgrimages are made in honour of William Tell. Some persons go there to see the mural pictures which a famous painter of Bale has lately executed in the chapel . . .
As it only took by boat an hour or an hour and a half to reach the place, Tartarin did not hesitate. It would make him lose a day, but he owed it to himself to render that homage97 to William Tell, for whom he had always felt a peculiar98 predilection99. And, besides, what a chance if he could there pick up this marvellous guide and induce him to do the Jungfrau with him.
Forward, zou!
He paid his bill, in which the setting and the rising sun were reckoned as extras, also the candles and the attendance. Then, still preceded by the rattle100 of his metals, which sowed surprise and terror on his way, he went to the railway station, because to descend6 the Rigi as he had ascended101 it, on foot, would have been lost time, and, really, it was doing too much honour to that very artificial mountain.
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1
alpine
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| adj.高山的；n.高山植物 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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8
fortify
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| v.强化防御，为…设防；加强，强化 | |
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reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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hustling
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| 催促（hustle的现在分词形式） | |
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gull
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| n.鸥；受骗的人；v.欺诈 | |
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pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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cursorily
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| adv.粗糙地，疏忽地，马虎地 | |
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baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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conflagration
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| n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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resinous
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| adj.树脂的，树脂质的，树脂制的 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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bellowing
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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modulated
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| 已调整[制]的，被调的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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silhouette
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| n.黑色半身侧面影，影子，轮廓；v.描绘成侧面影，照出影子来，仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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recoiling
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| v.畏缩( recoil的现在分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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hopping
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| n. 跳跃 动词hop的现在分词形式 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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45
renounced
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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everlastingly
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| 永久地，持久地 | |
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gush
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| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
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51
imperturbably
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| adv.泰然地，镇静地，平静地 | |
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52
panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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53
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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55
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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tassels
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| n.穗( tassel的名词复数 )；流苏状物；（植物的）穗；玉蜀黍的穗状雄花v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须( tassel的第三人称单数 )；使抽穗， （为了使作物茁壮生长）摘去穗状雄花；用流苏装饰 | |
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humbug
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| n.花招，谎话，欺骗 | |
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glands
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| n.腺( gland的名词复数 ) | |
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hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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cascades
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| 倾泻( cascade的名词复数 )； 小瀑布（尤指一连串瀑布中的一支）； 瀑布状物； 倾泻（或涌出）的东西 | |
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plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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rhythmical
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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auroral
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| adj.曙光的；玫瑰色的 | |
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promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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rumoured
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| adj.谣传的；传说的；风 | |
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tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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nonplussed
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| adj.不知所措的，陷于窘境的v.使迷惑( nonplus的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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factions
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| 组织中的小派别，派系( faction的名词复数 ) | |
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prunes
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| n.西梅脯，西梅干( prune的名词复数 )v.修剪（树木等）( prune的第三人称单数 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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buckled
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| a. 有带扣的 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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ruminating
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| v.沉思( ruminate的现在分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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lugubrious
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| adj.悲哀的，忧郁的 | |
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glaciers
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| 冰河，冰川( glacier的名词复数 ) | |
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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crevasse
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| n. 裂缝，破口；v.使有裂缝 | |
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engraving
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| n.版画；雕刻（作品）；雕刻艺术；镌版术v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的现在分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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predilection
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| n.偏好 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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