She could not eat and lamented3 she had lost her appetite just when she had at last the means to satisfy it. She still admired her son; but she durst not let her mind dwell on the appalling4 duties he was engaged upon and congratulated herself she was only an ignorant woman who had no call to judge his conduct.
The poor mother had found a rosary at the bottom of a trunk; she hardly knew how to use it, but often fumbled5 the beads6 in her trembling fingers. She had lived to grow old without any overt7 exercise of her religion, but she had always been a pious8 woman, and she would pray to God all day long, in the chimney corner, to save her boy and that good, kind Monsieur Brotteaux. élodie often came to see her; they durst not look each other in the eyes, and sitting side by side they would talk at random9 of indifferent matters.
One day in Pluviose, when the snow, falling in heavy flakes10, darkened the sky and deadened the noises of the city, the citoyenne Gamelin, who was alone in the lodging11 heard a knock at the door. She started violently; for months now the slightest noise had set her trembling. She opened the door. A young man of eighteen or twenty walked in, his hat on his head. He was dressed in a bottle-green box-coat, the triple collar of which covered his bust12 and descended13 to the waist. He wore top-boots of an English cut. His chestnut14 hair fell in ringlets about his shoulders. He stepped into the middle of the studio, as if wishful that all the light admitted by the snow-encumbered skylight might fall on him, and stood there some moments without moving or speaking.
"Don't you know your daughter?"
"Julie!... It is you.... Good God! is it possible?..."
"Why, yes, it is I. Kiss me, mother."
The citoyenne Gamelin pressed her daughter to her bosom17, and dropped a tear on the collar of the box-coat. Then she began again in an anxious voice:
"You, in Paris!..."
"Ah! mother, but why did I not come alone! For myself, they will never know me in this dress."
It was a fact the box-coat sufficiently18 disguised her shape, and she did not look very different from a great many very young men, who, like her, wore their hair long and parted in two masses on the forehead. Her features, which were delicately cut and charming, but burnt by the sun, drawn19 with fatigue20, worn with anxiety, had a bold, masculine expression. She was slim, with long straight limbs and an easy carriage; only the clear treble of her voice could have betrayed her sex.
Her mother asked her if she was hungry. She said she would be glad of something to eat, and when bread, wine and ham had been set before her, she fell to, one elbow on the table, with a pretty gluttony, like Ceres in the hut of the old woman Baubo.
Then, the glass still at her lips:
"Mother," she asked, "do you know when my brother will be back? I have come to speak to him."
The good woman looked at her daughter in embarrassment21 and said nothing.
"I must see him. My husband was arrested this morning and taken to the Luxembourg."
By this name of "husband" she designated Fortuné de Chassagne, a ci-devant noble and officer in Bouillé's regiment22. He had first loved her when she was a work-girl at a milliner's in the Rue23 des Lombards, and had carried her away with him to England, whither he had fled after the 10th August. He was her lover; but she thought it more becoming to speak of him as her husband before her mother. Indeed, she told herself that the hardships they had shared had surely united them in a wedlock24 consecrated25 by suffering.
More than once they had spent the night side by side on a bench in one of the London parks and gathered up scraps26 of broken bread under the table in the taverns28 in Piccadilly.
Her mother could find no answer and gazed at her mournfully.
"Don't you hear what I say, mother? Time presses, I must see évariste at once; he, and he only, can save Fortuné's life."
"Julie," answered her mother at last, "it is better you should not speak to your brother."
"Why, what do you mean, mother?"
"I mean what I say, it is better you do not speak to your brother about Monsieur de Chassagne."
"But, mother, I must!"
"My child, évariste can never forgive Monsieur de Chassagne for his treatment of you. You know how angrily he used to speak of him, what names he called him."
"My child, it was a mortal blow to his pride. évariste has vowed30 never again to mention Monsieur de Chassagne's name, and for two years now he has not breathed one word of him or of you. But his feelings have not altered; you know him, he can never forgive you."
"But, mother, as Fortuné has married me ... in London...."
The poor mother threw up her eyes and hands:
"Fortuné is an aristocrat31, an émigré, and that is cause enough to make évariste treat him as an enemy."
"Mother, give me a direct answer. Do you mean that if I ask him to go to the Public Prosecutor32 and the Committee of General Security and take the necessary steps to save Fortuné's life, do you mean that he will not consent?... But, mother, he would be a monster if he refused!"
"My child, your brother is an honest man and a good son. But do not ask him, oh! do not ask him to intercede33 for Monsieur de Chassagne.... Listen to me, Julie. He does not confide34 his thoughts to me and, no doubt, I should not be competent to understand them ... but he is a juror; he has principles; he acts as his conscience dictates35. Do not ask him anything, Julie."
"Ah! I see you know him now. You know that he is cold, callous36, that he is a bad man, that ambition and vainglory are his only guides. And you always loved him better than me. When we lived together, all three of us, you set him up as my pattern to copy. His staid demeanour and grave speech impressed you; you thought he possessed37 all the virtues38. And me, me you always blamed, you gave me all the vices39, because I was frank and free, and because I climbed trees. You could never endure me. You loved nobody but him. There, I hate him, your model évariste; he is a hypocrite."
"Hush40, Julie! I have been a good mother to you as well as to him. I had you taught a trade. It has been no fault of mine that you are not an honest woman and did not marry in your station. I loved you tenderly and I love you still. I forgive you and I love you. But do not speak ill of évariste. He is a good son. He has always taken care of me. When you left me, my child, when you abandoned your trade and forsook41 your shop, to go and live with Monsieur de Chassagne, what would have become of me without him? I should have died of hunger and wretchedness."
"Do not talk so, mother; you know very well we would have cherished you with all affection, Fortuné and I, if you had not turned your face from us, at évariste's instigation. Never tell me! he is incapable42 of a kindly43 action. It was to make me odious44 in your eyes that he made a pretence45 of caring for you. He! love you?... Is he capable of loving anyone? He has neither heart nor head. He has no talent, not a scrap27. To paint, a man must have a softer, tenderer nature than his."
She threw a glance round the canvases in the studio, which she found to be no better and no worse than when she left her home.
"There you see his soul! he has put it in his pictures, cold and sombre as it is. His Orestes, his Orestes with the dull eye and cruel mouth, and looking as if he had been impaled46, is himself all over.... But, mother, cannot you understand at all? I cannot leave Fortuné in prison. You know these Jacobins, these patriots47, all évariste's crew. They will kill him. Mother, little mother, darling mother, I cannot have them kill him. I love him! I love him! He has been so good to me, and we have been so unhappy together. Look, this box-coat is one of his coats. I had never a shift left. A friend of Fortuné's lent me a jacket and I got a post with an eating-house keeper at Dover, while he worked at a barber's. We knew quite well that to return to France was to risk our lives; but we were asked if we would go to Paris to carry out an important mission.... We agreed,—we would have accepted a mission to hell! Our travelling expenses were paid and we were given a letter of exchange on a Paris banker. We found the offices closed; the banker is in prison and going to be guillotined. We had not a brass48 farthing. All the individuals with whom we were in correspondence and to whom we could appeal are fled or imprisoned49. Not a door to knock at. We slept in a stable in the Rue de la Femme-sans-tête. A charitable bootblack, who slept on the same straw with us there, lent my lover one of his boxes, a brush and a pot of blacking three quarters empty. For a fortnight Fortuné made his living and mine by blacking shoes in the Place de Grève.
"But on Monday a Member of the Commune put his foot on the box to have his boots polished. He had been a butcher once, a man Fortuné had before now given a kick behind to for selling meat of short weight. When Fortuné raised his head to ask for his two sous, the rascal50 recognized him, called him aristocrat, and threatened to have him arrested. A crowd collected, made up of honest folks and a few blackguards, who began to shout "Death to the émigré!" and called for the gendarmes51. At that moment I came up with Fortuné's bowl of soup. I saw him taken off to the Section and shut up in the church of Saint-Jean. I tried to kiss him, but they hustled52 me away. I spent the night like a dog on the church steps.... They took him away this morning...."
She threw her hat on the floor and fell on her knees at her mother's feet.
"They took him away this morning to the Luxembourg prison. Mother, mother, help me to save him; have pity on your child!"
Drowned in her tears, she threw open her box-coat and, the better to prove herself a woman and a wife, bared her bosom; seizing her mother's hands, she held them close over her throbbing54 breasts.
"My darling, my daughter, Julie, my Julie!" sobbed55 the widow Gamelin,—and pressed her streaming cheeks to the girl's.
For some moments they clung together without a word. The poor mother was racking her brains for some way of helping56 her daughter, and Julie was watching the kind look in those tearful eyes.
"Perhaps," thought évariste's mother, "perhaps, if I speak to him, he will be melted. He is good, he is tender-hearted. If politics had not hardened him, if he had not been influenced by the Jacobins, he would never have had these cruel feelings, that terrify me because I cannot understand them."
She took Julie's head in her two hands:
"Listen, my child. I will speak to évariste. I will sound him, get him to see you and hear your story. The sight of you might anger him; his first impulse might be to turn against you.... And then, I know him; this costume would offend him; he is uncompromising in everything that touches morals, that shocks the proprieties57. I was a bit startled to see my Julie dressed as a man."
"Oh! mother, the emigration and the fearful disorders58 of the kingdom have made these disguises quite a common thing. They are adopted in order to follow a trade, to escape recognition, to get a borrowed passport or a certificate approved. In London I saw young Girey dressed as a girl,—and he made a very pretty girl; you must own, mother, that is a more scandalous disguise than mine."
"My poor child, you have no need to justify59 yourself in my eyes, whether in this or any other thing. I am your mother; for me you will always be blameless. I will speak to évariste, I will say...."
She broke off. She knew what her son was; she felt it in her heart, but she would not believe it, she would not know it.
"He is kind-hearted. He will do it for my sake ... for your sake, he will do what I ask him."
The two women, weary to the death, fell silent. Julie sank asleep, her head pillowed on the knees where she had rested as a child, while the mother, the rosary between her hands, wept, like another mater dolorosa, over the calamities60 she felt drawing stealthily nearer and nearer in the silence of this day of snow when everything was hushed, footsteps and carriage wheels and the very heaven itself.
Suddenly, with a keenness of hearing sharpened by anxiety, she caught the sound of her son's steps on the stairs.
"évariste!" she cried. "Hide"—and she hurried the girl into the bedroom.
"How are you to-day, mother dear?"
évariste hung up his hat on its peg61, changed his blue coat for a working jacket and sat down before his easel. For some days he had been working at a sketch62 in charcoal63 of a Victory laying a wreath on the brow of a dead soldier, who had died for the fatherland. Once the subject would have called out all his enthusiasm, but the Tribunal consumed all his days and absorbed his whole soul, while his hand had lost its knack64 from disuse and had grown heavy and inert65.
He hummed over the ?a ira.
"I hear you singing," said the citoyenne Gamelin; "you are light-hearted, évariste?"
"We have reason to be glad, mother; there is good news. La Vendée is crushed, the Austrians beaten, the Army of the Rhine has forced the lines of Lautern and of Wissembourg. The day is at hand when the Republic triumphant66 will show her clemency67. Why must the conspirators68' audacity69 increase the mightier70 the Republic waxes in strength, and traitors71 plot to strike the fatherland a blow in the dark at the very moment her lightnings overwhelm the enemies that assail72 her openly?"
The citoyenne Gamelin, as she sat knitting a stocking, was watching her son's face over her spectacles.
"Berzélius, your old model, has been to ask for the ten livres you owed him; I paid him. Little Joséphine has had a belly-ache from eating too much of the preserves the carpenter gave her. So I made her a drop of herb tea.... Desmahis has been to see you; he was sorry he did not find you in. He wanted to engrave73 a design by you. He thinks you have great talent. He is a fine fellow; he looked at your sketches74 and admired them."
"When peace is re-established and conspiracy75 suppressed," said the painter, "I shall begin on my Orestes again. It is not my way to flatter myself; but that head is worthy76 of David's brush."
"She holds out palms," he said. "But it would be finer if her arms themselves were palms."
"évariste!"
"Mother?"
"I have had news ... guess, of whom...."
"I do not know."
"Of Julie ... of your sister.... She is not happy."
"It would be a scandal if she were."
"Do not speak so, my son, she is your sister. Julie is not a bad woman; she had a good disposition78, which misfortune has developed. She loves you. I can assure you, évariste, that she only desires a hard-working, exemplary life and her fondest wish is to be reconciled to her friends. There is nothing to prevent your seeing her again. She has married Fortuné Chassagne."
"She has written to you?"
"No."
"How, then, have you had news of her, mother?"
"It was not by letter, évariste; it was...."
"Not another word, mother! Do not tell me they have both returned to France.... As they are doomed80 to perish, at least let it not be at my hands. For their own sake, for yours, for mine, let me not know they are in Paris.... Do not force the knowledge on me; otherwise...."
"What do you mean, my son? you would think, you would dare...?"
"Mother, hear what I say; if I knew my sister Julie to be in that room ..." (and he pointed81 at the closed door), "I should go instantly to denounce her to the Committee of Vigilance of the Section."
The poor mother, her face as white as her coif, dropped her knitting from her trembling hands and sighed in a voice fainter than the faintest whisper:
"I would not believe it, but I see it now; my boy is a monster...."
As pale as she, the froth gathering82 on his lips, évariste fled from the house and ran to find at élodie's side forgetfulness, sleep, the delicious foretaste of extinction83.
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收听单词发音
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1
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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overt
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| adj.公开的，明显的，公然的 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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11
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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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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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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wedlock
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| n.婚姻，已婚状态 | |
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consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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26
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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taverns
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| n.小旅馆，客栈，酒馆( tavern的名词复数 ) | |
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hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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30
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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prosecutor
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| n.起诉人；检察官，公诉人 | |
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intercede
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| vi.仲裁，说情 | |
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confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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dictates
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| n.命令，规定，要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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40
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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41
forsook
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| forsake的过去式 | |
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42
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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46
impaled
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| 钉在尖桩上( impale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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patriots
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| 爱国者，爱国主义者( patriot的名词复数 ) | |
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48
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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49
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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51
gendarmes
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| n.宪兵，警官( gendarme的名词复数 ) | |
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52
hustled
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| 催促（hustle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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53
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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55
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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56
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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57
proprieties
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| n.礼仪，礼节；礼貌( propriety的名词复数 )；规矩；正当；合适 | |
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58
disorders
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| n.混乱( disorder的名词复数 )；凌乱；骚乱；（身心、机能）失调 | |
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59
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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60
calamities
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| n.灾祸，灾难( calamity的名词复数 )；不幸之事 | |
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61
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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62
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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63
charcoal
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| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
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knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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clemency
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| n.温和，仁慈，宽厚 | |
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conspirators
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| n.共谋者，阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
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audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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mightier
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| adj. 强有力的，强大的，巨大的 adv. 很，极其 | |
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traitors
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| 卖国贼( traitor的名词复数 )； 叛徒； 背叛者； 背信弃义的人 | |
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assail
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| v.猛烈攻击，抨击，痛斥 | |
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engrave
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| vt.（在...上）雕刻，使铭记，使牢记 | |
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sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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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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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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